


And then there was Selina (Or: How To Tame Your Batman part 2)

by Ryxl



Series: How To Tame Your Batman [2]
Category: Batman: The Animated Series, DC Animated Universe, Superman: The Animated Series
Genre: Bruce has more issues than a lifetime subscription, Clark actually has a spine, Hurt/Comfort, I think it's done, I want that master bedroom, I'm not sure where this is going, Lois is everyone's inner fangirl, Lois ships it like whoah, Multi, No actual sex, Pale Porn, Platonic Kissing, Selina knows what she wants, Surprisingly Fluffy, Tags Contain Spoilers, Trust Issues, but they do get hands-on, continuation of previous fic, non-platonic kissing, shuffled timeline, who let me write this?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-27
Updated: 2014-12-14
Packaged: 2018-01-26 19:51:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 39,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1700480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ryxl/pseuds/Ryxl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the second half of what started out as a SuperBat hurt/comfort thing because I couldn't find any and I wanted to read some and SOMEONE refused to talk me out of writing it. Originally, I thought it was going to end up slashy but then Lois happened and threesomes became a possibility, AND THEN THERE WAS SELINA and I have no idea what's going on anymore. I make no promises of how long it goes or where it ends up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The sixth time, no one was prepared

**Author's Note:**

> Reminder: this is a direct continuation, do not read without having read 'You came to me bleeding'. Or, if you disregard this, don't come crying to me when things don't make sense.

The sixth time, no one was prepared.

The floor of the Daily Planet hummed with its usual quiet chorus of conversation and typing, paper-shuffling and footsteps, a susurration of productivity punctuated by the occasional ringing phone or closing door. The vibration of his cell phone didn’t raise any alarms in his mind until he answered it reflexively – without checking the caller’s number first – and Alfred’s diffident voice called him Master Clark. He didn’t even have time to react to the change in address, much less wonder when it had occurred or ponder the implications of it, before panic turned his blood to ice.

_“Master Clark, ah…I trust you are aware that I would not contact you this way were it not a matter of utmost urgency.”_

“I’m aware,” he responded dully, mechanically, already fabricating an excuse to explain leaving work so early in the afternoon.

_“Ah, good. I apologize for the interruption to your busy schedule, but if you’re free, there is…a package…waiting here for you.”_

“I’ll be there as soon as possible,” he promised, already shutting his computer down and digging for his keys.

 _“Thank you, Master Clark.”_ Alfred sounded genuinely relieved, which was almost more worrying than the previous implications. _“I’ll inform Master Bruce of your impending arrival.”_

“What’s wrong, Clark?” Lois asked as he hung up, eyebrows furrowing in concern.

He tossed her his keys. “Tell Perry I had to leave. Family emergency.”

“Clark…”

She knew that wasn’t the real reason. She wanted to know what was going on, but they hadn’t planned for something like this. _Why_ hadn’t they planned for something like this? This was why Batman was the tactician. _Still_ was. Hopefully.

“It’s related to that thing we don’t discuss,” he half-pleaded, hoping she’d get the hint.

Her violet eyes widened; she’d gotten the hint. “Right. Keep me posted.”

“I make no promises,” he said grimly.

Then he was out of the door like a shot.

 

* * *

 

 

On a pleasant afternoon, the flight from Metropolis to Gotham would take him ten, maybe fifteen minutes. This wasn’t a pleasant afternoon, and he was landing at the front door of Wayne Manor in just over three. Alfred ushered him inside, leading the way to wherever Bruce was.

“It’s been three days since Ms. Kyle was arrested,” he explained hurriedly, keeping his voice low. “Master Bruce was in a right state the first day, and after that fell into his usual depression. Barely ate, hardly slept, refused to leave the Batcave. He’s been down there ever since.”

Clark nodded, refusing to dwell on the implications of the words _usual depression_.

“Normally, he’d continue like that until even _his_ body gave out, but something’s different this time. He’s growing agitated again, and I fear what he might do – either to himself, or to his equipment.” The elderly man stopped before a grandfather clock and manipulated something that caused it to slide to one side, revealing steps descending into darkness. “The request to contact you was the first thing I’ve heard him say in over twelve hours.”

“I’ll do whatever I can,” he promised grimly.

He could have flown down the steps, into the Batcave, but this was not his realm. He was a guest here, however welcome, and he showed his respect in every echoing footstep as he walked cautiously down the stone staircase, afraid of what he would see. The Batcave stretched out into darkness, ledges and chasms and clusters of equipment, but the main portion was a stone floor larger than his apartment with an enormous computer terminal facing the stairs, and it was there that Bruce was pacing back and forth like an unwashed, unshaven lion in a blue terrycloth bathrobe and bare feet, fury radiating from him even at this distance. One hand was fisted behind his back, the other locked tight around his wrist. His eyes burned with hatred and lack of sleep in equal portions, and they glided past the hesitant figure of Superman like a pair of hungry sharks. Bruce reached the end of whatever imaginary line he was marking out and turned, those barely-rational eyes scraping again across the bright colors of Superman’s costume, the sharks circling closer. Again he reached the end and turned but this time, Clark stepped forward into his intended path.

“I’m here,” he said gently as Bruce approached, arms half-spread to take him into an embrace.

Bruce punched him in the chest.

It hurt, of course – even if the tissues took no damage, his nerves still performed their function and relayed their messages of pain – but while the blow would have knocked down a lesser man, it wasn’t at what Clark knew Batman’s full strength to be. Stoically, he endured a second punch and then a third, the impact of flesh on flesh and Bruce’s soft grunting the only sounds in the cave. Batman knew he couldn’t actually cause Superman any injury this way – he _had_ to know that. But still he kept throwing blow after blow like a boxer working a heavy bag, not looking Clark in the eyes, until his breath came in ragged gasps and droplets that could have been either sweat or tears marked his cheeks. Then he pulled a punch, frozen for just a moment mid-strike, and Clark’s heart broke at the sight of knuckles that had been bloodied against his body.

_You were very angry. What would you have done if I hadn’t been there?_

_Gone out on patrol. Found some scum to take my anger out on. Probably felt worse when it was all said and done._

“Bruce,” he murmured sadly, pieces fitting together. Bruce was furious with himself, but knew that his usual coping mechanisms weren’t healthy and didn’t know what else to do. Fearlessly, Clark gathered the now-trembling man into his arms and pulled that dark head gently down to his shoulder.

“Clark.” The whisper was tight and thick. “Help me. Please.”

What had been a loose embrace tightened; he fairly crushed Batman to his chest, wordlessly promising anything and everything as the tired man cried. There was nothing of Batman’s usual grace or control in this, only harsh sounds like shards of jagged glass being pulled from the wounds they had caused, and moaning, gasping breaths like the slow, pulsing flow of lifeblood that had to be stemmed before there was nothing left. Clark stroked unwashed, tangled hair and let his own tears fall, murmuring Bruce’s name over and over as if he could pull the other man’s mind back to sanity through a lifeline of repetition.

“Talk to me,” he urged as the broken sobbing began to calm. “Tell me what happened.”

“I love her.” The syllables shuddered, incoherent pain forced into words that repeated with each exhalation, a despairing chorus chanted with the same fervor of a devotee praising his or her chosen deity.

“Who, Bruce?” It had to be someone new. He’d already come to terms with how he felt towards Lois; they all had. The mysterious Ms. Kyle, maybe?

“Selina,” he whimpered, hands clutching the material covering Clark’s chest, face pressed against Superman’s shoulder. “I love her. I don’t know what I want anymore, Clark. Am I fooling myself? Projecting onto her because I don’t want to get between you and Lois?”

This was alarming. This was _beyond_ alarming. Clark didn’t quite know what to do with a Batman who was clearly having a breakdown. On top of that, the three of them had danced around the word _love_ , but now it was out in the open, making the Man of Steel feel the cold curl of fear in his belly.

“Shh, it’s okay. We’ll sort it out.” Meaningless reassurances, but they were all he had at the moment. “Tell me about her.”

“She’s beautiful,” Bruce breathed. “Strong. Fearless. She could have been my Lois, but I put her in jail.”

Time to change tactics; this was just raising more questions. “You love her.” He licked his lips. “Do you still…” He couldn’t bring himself to say it, coward that he was. Like saying the word might kill it, cause it to vanish like fairy gold in the morning light, like Eurydice one step shy of freedom.

Bruce’s lips on his shattered that fear.

It was a kiss unlike anything he’d ever experienced. Under other circumstances, the motions would have been precise, graceful, demonstrating the expertise Batman displayed in anything he did. But like everything else about Batman right now, all of that control and elegance had been discarded in favor of raw, desperate emotion. One hand slipped up to cup the back of Clark’s neck, silently demanding he hold still because they both knew mere human strength couldn’t hold him if he decided otherwise. The other slid around to the small of Superman’s back, urging their bodies closer together. Clark kissed back, helpless to do anything else while that flood of emotion surged through them, and a tiny corner of his mind wondered if this was what Bruce would be like in bed.

When the flood faded to a trickle, Bruce relinquished Clark’s lips as though exhausted, his hands resuming their hold on his costume as he bowed his head and whispered, “Yes.”

Words failed him entirely. Lacking any other means of reassurance, Clark kissed his forehead tenderly and held him close. They stayed like that for a handful of minutes, until Bruce’s heartbeats returned to a more normal range and his breathing was slow and even.

“Finally feel like you deserve it?” Clark asked softly.

Bruce snorted. “No. But I couldn’t let you think I didn’t care.”

“Bruce,” he chided lightly, urging the other man’s face up with one finger, smiling to show he wasn’t angry. He’d intended to initiate a second kiss, this one gentle and reassuring, but when those tired and bloodshot eyes reluctantly settled on his, they begged him not to. Clark’s smile slipped, and he pressed a kiss to Bruce’s temple instead. “When you’re ready,” he whispered, and felt the minute nod of acceptance for his half-unspoken promise before Bruce buried his face in Clark’s shoulder again.

“At the moment,” he said in something close to his usual deadpan, “all I’m ready for is a bath and something to eat, followed by a lot of sleep. You don’t need to tell me I look like hell.” He paused, then said quietly, “The last time something shook me this bad, I gave myself hypothermia. I don’t know that I handled it any better this time, but I wasn’t safe to drive, much less fly.”

“Aren’t you the one who said it takes a strong man to ask for help?” Clark nuzzled the other man’s tangled hair. “And didn’t I say I’d be there if you needed me? It’s okay, Bruce. Eat. Sleep. Get cleaned up. And then tell me all about Selina so we can figure out what to do.”

“And _you_ can wear _my_ clothes for a change.”

It was dry humor, but it was humor none the less and a little bit of the tightness around Clark’s heart eased up. “Should I start looking for a place in Gotham?” he teased.

Bruce straightened up and re-tied the belt on his bathrobe. “No. There’s plenty of spare bedrooms upstairs. Let Alfred know I’ll be up in a few minutes? There’s a shower and a change of clothes down here.”

“For just such an occasion?” Clark asked warily.

“More often, it’s because my patrol was messy.” He flashed a tight, self-depreciating grin. “Alfred hates it when I track _dirt_ through the house, much less some of the _other_ things I’ve been splashed, submerged, thrown, or fallen into.”

That was an excellent point; he wasn’t sure he wanted to think about what kind of messes Batman regularly got into. Suddenly, he was aware that the blue terrycloth bathrobe seemed to be the only thing Bruce was wearing, and he didn’t need to see the amused look on his face to know that he was blushing.

“I’ll…go let Alfred know you’ll be up in a few minutes,” he said hurriedly, Bruce’s laughter following him as he absolutely did _not_ run for the stairs.

 

* * *

 

 

Sitting in the “small” dining room, at a table that could hold eight, in the Superman costume, Clark felt vastly out of place. Neither Alfred nor Bruce seemed to be bothered by it, although the former made only brief appearances and the latter was focused on tucking away a quantity of food that would have been astonishing to almost anyone else. No take-out or delivery here; Alfred had whipped up a veritable vat of chicken carbonara and sautéed vegetables in such a short amount of time that Clark had to assume he was accustomed to preparing huge meals at the drop of a hat. Then again, he’d probably had two days to prepare this meal while Bruce sulked. Clark had accepted a serving in order to be polite, but it was too good to _not_ eat, even if he didn’t need to.

Bruce, of course, was still going long after he’d finished. Clark could only imagine how hungry he had to be after two days of ‘barely eating’. Now that he was out of the Batcave and freshly-showered, the dark circles under his eyes were visible and, quite frankly, rather alarming – despite growled assurances that they’d fade after a good eight to twelve hours of sleep. Bruce hadn’t asked if Clark would be there when he woke up, although Alfred had arched a questioning eyebrow and received a tiny nod of confirmation.

He was in the middle of contemplating a nighttime flight back to Metropolis for a change of clothes and maybe a few extra to keep at Wayne Manor when Bruce cleared his throat.

“What do you know about Red Claw?”

Clark searched his memory. “Not much,” he admitted. “Red Claw is a known terrorist, but information past that is sketchy. Government’s been keeping it under wraps.”

“In the last week, she stole a very deadly bio-weapon out from under the noses of a military escort and tried to use it to blackmail Gotham.”

Not good. “How deadly are we talking?” he asked cautiously.

Bruce looked grimmer than usual. “A canister about twenty ounces in volume that could have killed everything in a ten-mile radius.”

He wasn’t sure whether to be afraid, or angry. Or both. “And we didn’t even hear about it in Metropolis,” he said sourly. “That’s one heck of a cover-up. You took care of it?”

“Me, and Catwoman.” Now Bruce looked anguished. “I met her first as a thief, a cat burglar nonviolently separating the wealthy from their jewelry. The next night, Bruce Wayne met her as a friend of animals who could, would, and _did_ drop ten thousand at a benefit auction and then decline to claim the prize she’d out-bid the competition for.”

“Which was?” Clark assumed this was Selina he was hearing about; the Ms. Kyle Alfred had mentioned. He could see already where things were…complicated.

Bruce took his time answering. He played with the remains of his latest helping, took a bite almost fondly, and washed it down with ice water. “A date with me.”

Clark let out a low whistle. “She turned you down. Must have been a first for you. How did that feel?”

“Brat,” he muttered, failing to hide a small smile. “I talked her into having lunch, but instead we wound up meeting with a sleazeball regarding some land they were both trying to purchase. That was our lead to Red Claw. We both went back there at night to do some digging. She got there before me and got into trouble-”

“-and you swooped in to save her.” Clark didn’t even pretend to hide his smile. It really did sound like Superman and Lois, minus the part about stealing.

“I did. And she kissed me.”

He couldn’t resist. Not that he was trying very hard. “Must have been a first for Batman. How did _that_ feel?”

“Be serious for a moment,” Batman snapped. “She was already in love with me as Batman. I’ve led on enough women to know what that looks like.”

Okay, there was a nerve there somewhere. Warily, Clark asked, “And what about Selina?”

Bruce stabbed a hapless piece of chicken. “It wasn’t really a surprise to find out they were one and the same. She had the same poise and cool charm while trying to lose Batman as she did trying to lose Bruce Wayne. She’s passionate about her interests, she pursues them fearlessly, she’s not in it for personal gain, and she doesn’t expect to be rescued although she accepts it gracefully. All the things that attracted me to Lois. I wouldn’t have been able to find and stop Red Claw without her.” He paused to glare at the morsel skewered on the end of his fork, then devoured it angrily. “I told her to get to safety. She refused until I said _please_. I tried to unmask her the night before, she threw me off a roof for it, but she wouldn’t flee to save herself if it meant leaving me to die until I assured her I’d be right behind her and said _please_. She _loves_ me, or did. I put her in jail. She could have been…” The fork fell from his fingers, and he hid his face behind trembling hands.

Clark was fairly sure he couldn’t stand to see Bruce cry again. “I’ll talk to her,” he promised. “There’s no point crying over milk that hasn’t spilled yet. I’ll talk to her and see how she feels.”

“And if she still cares?” Bruce whispered.

He leaned over and kissed one damp temple. “Then we talk about it. Are you finished eating?”

The hands fell. He didn’t look reassured, but he also didn’t look about to cry. With grim efficiency he emptied the serving dishes, devouring every last bite, and finally sat back with a heavy sigh. “I shouldn’t have eaten that much,” he said wryly. “I’m not sure I can stand, much less climb stairs.”

“Good thing you don’t have to.” Clark grinned as he stood up. “This is a job for Superman.”

He was afraid Bruce would protest being scooped up out of his chair and carried bridal-style, but no protest was forthcoming and he laid his head on Clark’s shoulder contentedly, murmuring directions to the master bedroom. It didn’t take long before he was laying Bruce on a bed that was _easily_ big enough for both of them, plus Lois _and_ Selina, and tucking him gently in. As he leaned over to kiss Bruce’s temple, a light hand on the back of his neck redirected him. He didn’t resist, and a tender, sleepy kiss was his reward.

“Thank you,” Bruce breathed, already half asleep.

Clark opened his mouth to say something, anything, but the words stuck in his throat. Instead, he laid a feather-light caress on the other man’s cheek and carefully flew out of the room.

 

* * *

 

 

They had her waiting for him by the time he got to the secure visitation room. Although the prison jumpsuit didn’t flatter her and she’d been handcuffed, she held herself with stately elegance that defied her surroundings.

“Superman,” she said, expressing none of the surprise, admiration, or even awe he might have expected. It was as though she were a hostess greeting him at the door. “To what do I owe the honor? I’ve never lived in Metropolis, and I thought Batman didn’t let anyone else play in his sandbox.”

The subtle challenge in her voice grated up his spine. To give himself a moment to force his hackles back down, he sat in the other chair and faced her across the plain, scarred metal table. “Selina Kyle, I presume?”

Anger snapped in her green eyes. “Is there anyone _else_ here? What do you want from me, Superman?”

“Whoa, easy. I’m not here to fight. I just want to talk.”

“What’s there to talk about? I’ve already told you, I’ve never lived in your city and this isn’t your jurisdiction.”

Fearless, indeed. It was like dealing with Batman, before he’d earned some of the Dark Knight’s respect. “I understand you were involved in the Red Claw incident last week,” he began, forcibly keeping his tone even. “Care to tell me about that?”

“I’ve already told everything to the police.”

“Did you tell them that you initially refused to leave and save yourself?”

Jade-green eyes widened, then narrowed into angry slits. “You’re good,” she growled reluctantly. “But you’re not Batman.”

Clark blinked. She made it sound like he was some kind of imposter or second-rate crimefighter. He wasn’t used to being compared to Batman and found wanting. “I never claimed to be, although I _am_ here because of him.”

The anger shattered, leaving sorrow and resentment. “He _said_ if he didn’t unmask me, the police would. He claimed that what was between us was the law.” She shook her head, trying to chase away thoughts or emotions.

“He said _please_ ,” Clark said quietly.

“He told you.” Selina stared at him, resentment bleeding away and leaving…hope?

“I need to know if you still care about him, Selina.”

She caught his drift immediately. It was somewhat startling, seeing the change that made. Like the feral barn cats recognizing his form and the scent of raw chicken as he took out the kitchen garbage, going from hostility to anxious ingratiation. Like a teenage girl realizing that he could pass a note to her crush if she asked nicely enough. Then, like magic, she was back to the cool poise she’d had when he first walked in, all aloof dignity. She was refusing to beg.

“There’s nothing I could say that wouldn’t sound like I was trying to get on his good side. Of course I still care about him, for however much that’s worth.”

“Even though he put you in jail?” he asked cautiously.

Fearless, challenging, she met his gaze squarely. “I threw him off a building, and he still cared enough to say please. Cats hunt, fire burns, Batman catches people who break the law. You can’t be angry at something for following its nature.” She sighed and gave him a wry smile. “I’ll be honest, Superman – the only part about this week that I _really_ regret is not being able to tell Bruce Wayne that I wasn’t interested only because Batman had gotten to me first.”

“Bruce Wayne?” he asked to cover – or at least excuse – his surprise.

This, it seemed, was something she _was_ willing to talk about. “I used my ill-gotten wealth to buy a date with him at a charity event, then told him he was off the hook because I’d done it for the animals. He said he was ‘honor-bound and delighted’ to deliver.” Her voice took on a note of fondness. “He’s a sweet guy. Maybe if I’d met him first, things would have been different – but Batman has the eyes of a lion, and I don’t regret _anything_ having to do with him.”

Clark took the opening, pressing for those honest flashes of reaction that spoke louder than words. “When I saw him not two hours ago, those lion eyes were tired and bloodshot.”

She looked anguished. Then she put two and two together, and looked _frantic_. “Over me? He thinks – no, Superman, please tell him I’m not angry. If he hasn’t given up on me, I’ll do whatever it takes to make what’s between us something _other_ than the law. I’ll plead guilty, I’ll swear off crime.” Shakily, she laughed. “I must sound pathetic. I bet you hear promises like that all the time.” She gave him a lopsided smile, but he didn’t smile back.

She wouldn’t beg for herself, but she’d beg for him. Interesting “Would you share him?” he asked, low and serious.

“Share him? What do you mean?”

He was pretty sure Bruce was going to fillet him for this, but it was too good an opportunity to pass up. “Share his affections. If there were others he cared about as well, would you be jealous?”

She weighed the question for a long moment. “I’d get over it,” she told him with brutal honesty. “I probably wouldn’t want to be in the same room with them for a while, but I’d rather have _some_ of his attention than none of it.”

“I’ll tell him,” Clark promised. “Oh, one more thing.”

Selina cocked her head to one side and made a small sound of curiosity. “Hm?”

“If you get the chance…level with Bruce Wayne.” He gave her a brief smile. “Who knows, maybe _he’s_ willing to share, too.”

Bruce was _definitely_ going to fillet him, but as he left, the cautiously speculative look on Selina’s face made him feel it would be worth it.

 

* * *

 

 

The groan was Clark’s first clue that Bruce was awake. He’d tried to be careful and slip between the heavy curtains instead of throwing them open and flooding the bedroom with early-morning sunlight, but he must have failed. Feeling guilty for being too sun-glutted to feel guilty about waking Bruce, he slipped back out and blinked, blind in the darkness of the master bedroom.

“Sorry,” he called softly. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t,” came Batman’s growl. Bedsheets and blankets rustled, and footsteps marked the other man’s passage to the master bath.

By the time Bruce emerged, looking rumpled but a lot healthier than he had yesterday, Clark’s eyes had adjusted again. He beamed at his grumpy host, but the half-formed thought of a good-morning kiss withered and died in the face of Batman’s scowl.

“ _Some_ of us need coffee and breakfast,” he half-accused as he walked right past Clark and left the bedroom. The fact that Clark was wearing a pair of his pajamas didn’t even seem to register.

Unbothered, Clark trailed after him. “How are you feeling?”

“I’ll need to apply dermal regenerative to my hands,” was the brusque reply. Then he stopped walking and closed his eyes. After a few moments, he added, “I’m sorry I used you as a punching bag.”

Clark pulled him into a hug. “It’s okay. Better than hypothermia.”

One, maybe two minutes, Bruce allowed himself to lean against the Man of Steel. Then he straightened and resumed his grim journey to the “small” dining room where a veritable breakfast buffet was waiting.

“I talked to Selina,” Clark said as he sat down and toyed with a piece of toast.

Bruce finished filling his plate and sat down as well. “Oh?”

Whoops, that was an unfriendly _Oh_. He dropped the toast and held both hands up in disavowal. “I can see why you like her, and she’s all the things you said she was, but I’m not interested.”

The aura of immanent pain and dismemberment dissipated. “Go on.”

“She’s not angry.” Best to get that out in the open first.

Bruce sighed, shoulders visibly unknotting.

“She still cares,” Clark continued gently. “She said that if you haven’t given up on her, she’ll do whatever it takes to make what’s between you something other than the law.”

“Do you think she’s telling the truth?” He doubted her, or maybe himself. Trust issues.

Clark caught and held Bruce’s eyes. “I do think she’s telling the truth. I believe her. She loves you, Bruce.”

He smiled bitterly. “She loves Batman.”

There was that denial again; he was trying to convince himself that he couldn’t have what he wanted. Clark mentally juggled the pieces of information Selina’d given him, trying to decide which was better to counter with. “She told me that if she’d met Bruce Wayne first, things might have been different.” The astonishment on Bruce’s face made him smile. “She _also_ regrets not being able to tell Bruce Wayne that the reason she was uninterested was because Batman had gotten there first.”

Guarded hope flickered in Bruce’s eyes, but for a handful of minutes he mulled it over in silence while he ate and Clark sipped coffee.

“I’ll have a talk with her lawyer,” he said finally. “There’s no point in trying to plan anything until we have a sense for how the trial is going to go.”

Clark gave him a stern look. “Are you going to talk to her? As Bruce Wayne?”

His eyes slid away from Clark’s. “That depends on her lawyer.”

Oh, no – he wasn’t going to get off that easy. “Do you _want_ to talk to her as Bruce Wayne?”

“Yes,” he ground out, then busied himself with pancakes and bacon to avoid any further questions.

Clark let him; that was enough pushing for now. He’d tell Bruce the rest of it when he was more willing to listen. After a minute of smelling syrup and salt, he gave in and assembled a plate of breakfast foods for himself. When they were both finished eating, he cleared his throat.

“There’s one more thing,” he started cautiously, feeling Bruce out.

“Oh?” This time it was cheerful; a good sign.

“The other reason I believe her. I asked if she’d share Batman, or if she’d be jealous if there were others he cared about.”

Bruce went very, very still. Batman-still. “And?”

“She said she’d get over it. She’d rather have some of your attention than none of it.”

For a long moment, he just sat with his jaw clenched, staring intently at nothing. Then he shook his head, forcing himself to relax. “Answer one question, and another pops up. I know where I stand with her, and with you, but I still need to re-evaluate what I feel for Lois in light of all of this – and I’m _still_ not entirely certain of what I want.”

Clark couldn’t feel hurt that Bruce didn’t know what he wanted with him; not when _Clark_ didn’t know where he wanted things to go, either. Lois was an understandable enigma. But Selina? “Bruce…you love Selina and she loves you. How can you not be sure of what you want with her?”

Bruce shot him a dark look. “I could say I don’t want to be arrogant and make decisions without her input, but the truth is I have issues. I _know_ I have issues. Think of my childhood, Clark. While other teenage boys were fumbling in the backseats of cars, I was learning how to pick locks. While other teenage boys were going on awkward dates, I spent my nights in the dojo. Think of my dubious reputation.”

Clark winced.

“That’s right,” he continued grimly. “I know how to flirt, how to lead someone on, how to kiss and where to touch. But further than that, all I know is how to do it wrong and end it messily. Remember all those scars you refused to say anything about? Do you _really_ think I’m comfortable showing those to anyone? My entire life, since the child I had been _died_ in that alley, has been about control and self-denial. I want the people I care about to be happy, and I’ll do whatever I can to make that happen – but I don’t know how to _be_ happy.”

Instead of answering, Clark stood and pulled Bruce, unresisting, into a hug. Despite all his angry assertions, he melted almost eagerly into the embrace, head on Clark’s shoulder, arms tight around his waist.

“Does this make you happy?” Clark asked softly.

“Yes.” It was no louder than a sigh.

“Then trust the people you care about. The first step is asking for help; the second step is accepting help when it’s offered. Let us help you find what makes you happy, one step at a time. We care about you, Bruce. I know it’s complicated, but as long as we’re honest with each other and take it slow, I’m confident everything will work out in the end.”

A comfortable handful of minutes passed in silence while Bruce thought about that.

“You’re due for a day off at the end of next week,” Clark said gently. “How’s the penthouse coming?”

“It won’t be ready until next month. The construction is complete, but I’ll need to take a week off to have it decorated and _enhanced_ to my satisfaction.”

“Movie night at my place again, then? Food ordered from Pizza Palace and _Gray Ghost_ , season one, volume two?”

The silence stretched for a few breaths before Bruce said, “I’d like that.”


	2. Selina interlude

The door opened. Footsteps announced her visitor as he crossed the room and sat in the other chair, but Selina kept her eyes on her cuffed hands. The silence thickened for a long minute. Then the chair scraped across the floor as her visitor stood and rounded the table, and a warm hand under her chin gently urged her to look up.

“Hey,” Bruce Wayne said, expression somewhere between happiness and concern. “Am I that unwelcome?”

She turned her head away from his fingers, unwilling to see the inevitable disappointment on his face. “It’s not that. I’m…I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

Bruce pulled the chair over so he could sit closer to her. “You’re beautiful no matter what you wear,” he said, the words low and warm and throbbing.

In answer, she raised her hands and let the handcuffs rattle, still avoiding his gaze. He took her hands in his. She wanted to pull away, to ball her hands into fists, but she couldn’t force herself to give up that touch. “Bruce…the ten thousand…it was stolen.”

“I know.” His voice was calm, grounding, reassuring. She closed her eyes to protect herself from the desire to look at him.

“The night before we met, I committed a theft. Batman confronted me. His power, his grace, speed, control…he was like a panther, and I was his prey. He had the eyes of a lion.” Her fingers tightened around his; he squeezed back. “I’m a lioness, Bruce. I fell in love. I know you care about me, but you don’t need the scandal of being involved with a criminal – much less the heartache of knowing that if we ever went past friends, I’d be imagining _him_ instead of you.”

Again, the silence stretched. Selina pulled her hands free and turned away, eyes still closed. Maybe, if she’d met him first, she wouldn’t have…but if she’d met him first, would Batman have saved her? Would he have been able to destroy the plague? No, she didn’t regret her actions – only that the consequences were hurting an innocent bystander.

“Don’t I deserve the right to make that choice for myself?” Bruce asked.

He sounded so forlorn and hopeless that her eyes flew open and, reflexively, she turned around to look at him. He looked every bit as forlorn as he’d sounded. “Why?” It was the only word she could force past the lump in her throat.

“Why would I pursue this, despite you being a criminal and in love with Batman?” When she nodded, he smiled sadly. “I love you, Selina. Maybe I can’t chase you across rooftops and make your heart race the way he can, but I can do things he can’t. I can take you out to dinner, take you dancing. I can hold you on a couch before a roaring fire on Christmas Eve. I can be the warmth you feel when you fall asleep, and the smile you wake up to. And if you need to spend a few hours chasing and being chased and come home with the smell of leather in your hair and sweat on your lips…I can turn a blind eye.”

“Bruce…” She swallowed, trying and failing to find words that might possibly explain what she was feeling. “Even though I can’t return your feelings?”

He brushed her cheek with the knuckles of one hand. “You care enough about me that you didn’t want me to see you like this. You care enough to want to spare me heartache. You’re the first one I’ve felt this way about in a long, long time, and I don’t begrudge the Dark Knight whatever happiness you might bring him. I want you to be happy, Selina. I’d prefer to be the one making you happy, but if all I can be is the runner-up, I’ll settle for that.”

She wanted to say something, anything, but her entire world was a pair of sad, earnest eyes belonging to a man who could have any woman he wanted, but was throwing his heart away pining for her. Could she do this, let Bruce shackle himself to her, be a pampered lap-cat who still forsook safety and security for the primal thrill of the night? Would it be fair to him if she did?

 _Maybe he’s willing to share,_ said the memory of Superman’s voice.

“How can you trust me?” she whispered. “After you got me that meeting with the chairman of Multigon, I went back and broke in. The men in the red car were trying to kill me for that. You could have been…”

He pulled her into an embrace, her head on his shoulder, her tears soaking into the material of his suit jacket. With one corner of her mind, she admitted that she must care about him as more than just a friend if she was so upset about this. With another, she was aware that he was stroking her hair and murmuring nearly-inaudible reassurances in her ear. His voice was lower, rougher…

The suspicion startled her, but his hand pressed gently against her head, preventing any observers from realizing something had changed. “I didn’t think you cared,” he murmured, teasing. “Trust me, Selina. I’ll do what I can to make sure you get out of here.”

 _Get out of here._ Words she’d heard once before in this rough voice. She wanted to believe, but she had to test it – she had to be certain. “Not without you,” she whispered into his shoulder, a counter-sign that had never been agreed on, and held her breath waiting for the continuation of a conversation that had had no witnesses.

“I’ll be right behind you.” The words were no louder than a sigh.

It was him. It was really him. He loved her. Selina allowed herself a dozen tears of relief and joy, but then she forced her breathing to calm and sat up. Bruce smiled uncertainly at her, gently brushing away stray tears while she searched his eyes for Batman’s fierce strength.

“You did warn me you’re not a man who gives up easily,” she said shakily.

For just an instant, that lion’s spirit flashed at her. Then he threw his head back and laughed. “More than you’ll ever know,” he said proudly, and somewhere, she found the strength to smile. Amazing that the words which had dashed her hopes could now restore them. “When you get out, however long it takes, I’ll be waiting for you.” He grinned, an expression less about amusement and more warning her that the joke was about to be told. “We never _did_ get to go to lunch.”

Selina laughed.


	3. Lois interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I should apologize for covering the same period of time again, and maybe for how long this got, but I won't. Like it or not, Lois is an important part of the dynamics now.

It started with a phone call. Not to her, of course – to Smallville. And not to his desk phone, either.

“Clark Kent.”

She’d heard it so many times it was just another piece of white noise.

“I’m aware.”

Whoa. That was a tone of voice that didn’t sound happy. Lois looked up from her screen, took in Clark’s clenched jaw and stoic look of enduring horror. Who the _hell_ was he talking to?

“I’ll be there as soon as possible.”

Not good. _Not good._ That was Clark’s There’s An Emergency And Superman Is Needed voice. Lois didn’t even pretend to be working, focusing all her attention on him.

“What’s wrong, Clark?” she asked as soon as he hung up. His computer was shutting down, and he looked ready to leave.

He tossed her his keys. “Tell Perry I had to leave. Family emergency.”

She didn’t miss that he hadn’t actually answered her question. “Clark…”

For just a moment, he looked helpless. He wanted to answer, but couldn’t. It really was a Superman thing, then.

“It’s related to that thing we don’t discuss,” he said.

Normally, from anyone else, she’d call that a cop-out. But she hadn’t been sitting on Batman’s secret identity with _anyone else_ , and she hadn’t almost inhaled grilled flatbread loaded with wild mushrooms, house pancetta and fontina cheese at those words with _anyone else_. Whatever the Superman Emergency was, it involved Batman. “Right,” she choked out. “Keep me posted.”

He looked grim at that. “I make no promises.”

This was _bad_.

 

* * *

 

 

Perry took the news well. _She_ took the presence of Clark’s keys as a hint that she should drive his car and stay at his place, so she decided to do just that. If she also did a little nosing around, well, she _was_ a reporter. The rest of the work day passed in a haze of concern and speculation. Her phone stayed silent. As usual, she wondered if there was more to his choice of automobile than just the convenient-to-fly-out-from roof. There was a burger joint near his building that looked good, and she picked up dinner on her way to his place.

The first thing she did was check the answering machine, but there was nothing new. Nothing on any of the stations, either, and even the internet news sites didn’t give her any idea of what was going on. Frustrated at being deprived of a story, she went snooping.

An hour later, Lois sat down at the kitchen table with a spoon, pouring chocolate syrup directly into and eating directly out of half a carton of ice cream in a fit of pique. If she didn’t know any better, she’d swear that Clark Kent from Smallville was a squeaky-clean nobody. The most interesting thing she’d found was a pair of pajamas, a long-sleeved tee-shirt, and a pair of jeans sitting all by themselves in one drawer – and the only interesting thing about that was there wasn’t any underwear with them. _That_ was only interesting because she suspected the clothes were for Bruce, and a lack of underwear hinted that he went commando. There was no pump-bottle of hand lotion in the bathroom, no crumpled Kleenex or toilet paper in the trash, no condoms in a bedside table drawer or hidden in between the neatly-folded socks or briefs. Who folded their socks and briefs? Squeaky-clean Kryptonians from Smallville, apparently. There wasn’t even any porn in the closet or under the bed, only a waterproof fleece in a box with a Gotham return address.

Maybe she ought to give him a bottle of lube. He probably didn’t even know it existed. Bruce probably did, though, and she’d stake her reputation on him being too clever to have unprotected sex with _anyone,_ male or female. Or maybe super-speed would make normal lube dry out too quickly, and Batman would need his own high-tech superhero gun oil. Silicone, maybe? Something better? Lois made a mental note to look up heavy-duty lubricants when she got home. And probably email Bruce about the issue, too – she had no idea what Kryptonian physiology would demand in terms of protection, and if Clark was going to need a special hat for his little soldier, she wanted to know ahead of time.

As her cell phone went off, she realized this was perhaps not the best thing to be thinking about at this point in time. Spoon stuck in the ice cream, she checked the number. Wayne Manor.

“Lois here.”

“Hey, Lois, it’s me.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “You’re actually keeping me posted.”

“You don’t have to sound so surprised,” he protested. “Anyway, the worst part is past, but I’m spending the night to make sure he’s okay.”

Lois pulled the spoon back out and licked it. “What happened?”

“It’s kind of a long story,” he said unhappily. “Since I know you want to go digging, though, see what you can find on a Ms. Selina Kyle. S-E-L-I-N-A.”

The spoon went _violently_ back into the ice cream. “Did she hurt him?”

“No! It’s not like that.” She could almost see the awkward look on his face. “Uh, kind of the opposite.”

The opposite. Well, if _that_ wasn’t all kinds of loaded. “There’s another woman?”

“There’s another woman,” he sighed. “I’ve met her. She loves him.”

“And he…”

“…loves her,” Clark finished grimly. “So much so that he was _incredibly_ distraught over it.”

Selfishly, she seethed with silent resentment for a good half a minute before asking, “So how does this change things?”

“For the moment,” he said warily, “it doesn’t. Mainly because he’s out cold, and will be for probably another eight to ten hours. Since it’s Friday, I thought I’d stay with him overnight and fly back tomorrow afternoon.”

That was too casual a statement, and Lois grinned. “Spit it out.”

“Spit what out?” He was enjoying this too much; she wasn’t going to get anything out of him at this rate. Time to switch tactics.

“I’m eating your ice cream.”

Silence; she was forcing him to either accept her change of subject, or resume his subject without the obfuscation. She smirked in victory.

“I thought maybe I could meet you at your place around three.” He sounded like he was facing a firing squad. “Just the two of us.”

Lois eyed the chocolate syrup, having _distinctly_ naughty thoughts about the super-powered Boy Scout and wondering if she was reading too much into that phrasing. “It’s going to be a nice day,” she said blandly. “I’ll leave my windows open.”

“Close the one in the bedroom if it rains tonight,” he said just as blandly. “Enjoy the ice cream.”

Well, _that_ took all the fun out of it.

 

* * *

 

 

She used Clark’s computer to investigate the competi- er, to investigate Ms. Kyle. There wasn’t much, but what she could find painted an interesting picture. Legal name change; she flagged that for later exploration. Moving to a new city. Registered purebred Cornish Rex with an impressive number of offspring, but never shown. Owned a small nonprofit aimed at protecting mountain lion habitats and made fairly generous donations to non-kill shelters specializing in cats. Arrested in the last week on charges of theft. She stared at that one for a long time, first wondering how she could have wormed her way into Batman’s heart as a crook, then remembering Clark saying Bruce was _incredibly distraught_ over her. Then she found a small article on how a woman previously unknown in the upper-crust circles had bid ten grand at a charity auction and scored a date with Gotham’s hottest catch, and slammed the lid of the laptop down.

Pacing helped her order her thoughts. Reluctantly, she admitted to herself that she was jealous because Bruce had never been _incredibly distraught_ over her. Yes, he’d charmed her socks off and then quietly dumped her because he thought she deserved better, and yes, that kind of respect was very gratifying even if she wanted to smack him for making that decision without talking to her first but didn’t because _god_ that man had a lot of issues but he was working on them and underneath it all he really _was_ a big softie, and what was her point again? Right. All the men in her life were wonderfully respectful, but sometimes a girl wanted to be fussed over.

Lois sighed and stopped pacing. If she were being honest with herself, which apparently she was doing, she had to admit that while Bruce was _amazingly_ hot, and she wanted to help him get his head straightened out and maybe let him knock her socks off once or twice a month…she didn’t exactly want to settle down and she didn’t see him doing the domestic thing, either. She was a reporter, she got into trouble in the pursuit of news on a regular basis, and she didn’t really want to give that up. Clark could keep up with her, and bail her out, and she could actually (if she let herself think of such things, which _apparently she was doing_ ) picture herself in a white dress with an armful of flowers walking down an aisle to where Smallville was waiting, being his usual dorky self in a tux and looking at her dad nervously while Ma Kent sniffled into a handkerchief and Pa Kent beamed and wait, had she just cast Jimmy as the ring bearer?

Hands over her face, Lois groaned. Why was she wasting time with these girly fantasies when she could be contemplating _adult_ fantasies?

Defiantly, she helped herself to a hot shower and one of Clark’s tee-shirts, then sprawled out in his bed and unrepentantly imagined all the wicked things he and Bruce could have been doing to each other but hadn’t because Smallville had probably never _seen_ gay porn, much less starred in it.

 

* * *

 

 

In the morning, Lois felt much more charitable towards Ms. Kyle. She probably hit it off with Bruce the same way Lois had hit it off with Clark, and really, she couldn’t begrudge Bruce someone who could keep up with him. She’d even kiss the idea of steamy sex once or twice a month good-bye if Selina objected, although she wondered how the other woman would take Bruce’s occasional nights with Clark.

She drove Clark’s car back to work and took her own to her apartment, where she promptly threw on casual clothes and made herself lunch. Then she remembered last night’s musings and spent half an hour doing an exhaustive comparison of silicone lubricants before clearing her browser history and opening the bedroom window. No reason _not_ to hint, right?

The sound of an incoming video call chimed merrily at her as she rattled back down the bedroom stairs and slid into the seat at the breakfast bar where she’d left her laptop. Somehow, despite their weekly chats, it was still a surprise to see Bruce’s handle was calling.

The encrypted video feed cut on, showing him in that cave of his and looking about as grim as he ever did. “Lois, we need to talk.”

Well, that would have been discouraging if she hadn’t been thinking about it for the last twelve hours. Give or take. “Yeah,” she sighed, “I guess we do. So tell me about her, Bruce.”

His face actually lit up, the way it was only supposed to in movies. She held up one hand.

“Never mind, your expression says it all.” Lois grinned. “You’re cute when you’re in love.”

Bruce looked sheepish. “Is it that obvious?”

“Yeah, it really is.”

“That’s a relief,” he said solemnly. “I was afraid I was projecting feelings for you onto her out of a reluctance to get between you and Clark.”

Oh, boy, he really did have issues. “Bruce, trust me, if you’d had those kind of feelings for me I would have been a _lot_ more insistent when you ‘forgot’ my number. Look, I know things between us are complicated, and I’m not going to even _try_ to figure out what you’ve got going with Smallville, but I think we both know that it was never going to be more than friendship and maybe some casual sex between you and me.”

“You’re not disappointed?” he asked hesitantly.

Lois waved the question away. “Like I’ve got time for long-distance romance? I like my relationships the way I like my reporting: hard and fast, no excuses or apologies, just facts. If Selina’s okay with occasional benefits to our friendship, then there’s nothing to be disappointed about and if not, then she’ll just have to deal with me using you for fantasizing anyway.”

“Like I told Clark, the penthouse won’t be furnished and secured to my standards for another month. Selina’s case is being hurried along due to pressure from the federal government, but – what?” he asked, seeing her frown.

“Why are the feds getting involved?”

That was a very predatory smile. She’d never seen Batman smile before, but she was pretty sure that’s what it looked like.

“Selina was accidentally instrumental in preventing a terrorist attack that would have wiped out everyone in a ten-mile radius. For some reason, they want to keep it under wraps that this came _very_ close to happening.”

Lois swallowed, feeling a chill of fear crawl down her spine. “How close, exactly?”

“Let’s just say I expect she’ll get just enough of a slap on the wrist that no one will raise questions about why her sentence wasn’t harsher.”

“Right.” She shook her head slightly. “So, you don’t think she’ll be out before the penthouse is ready, and the subject of _us_ probably isn’t one you want to bring up during visitation. You already know I can keep a secret. Do you want to get it over with and possibly pretend it never happened, or wait and see what she says and possibly have it never happen at all?”

Bruce’s grim expression didn’t lighten up any. “I don’t know.”

She glanced at the time. “Mm. Clark still there?”

“Yes,” he said in a tone of such finality that her impulse was to drop the subject.

Instead, she scowled. “You’re going to have to figure that out sooner or later.”

“Then I’ll do it later,” he shot back. “Right now I’m a little preoccupied with how Selina’s going to deal with the inevitable discovery that I’ve kissed Superman.”

Oh. _Well_ then. “Really? _You_ kissed _him?_ How did he take that?”

“Better than I did,” he answered dryly.

Lois leaned forward, resting her chin on one fist. “Bruce, you are the _worst_ manwhore in the history of men with loose morals.”

He gave her a wry smile. “That’s because I’m only _pretending_ to have loose morals.”

“Which is why it’s so important to keep reaffirming that you _are_ sexually attractive despite you thinking you’re some kind of monster because you’re covered in scars.” She glared him down until he closed his mouth, protest unuttered. “Selina’s not able to take over there for at least a month. You’re still not certain whether you even _want_ to know if Clark finds you sexually attractive, and if there’s anyone else you feel comfortable jerking it in front of, you sure as _hell_ haven’t told me. You already know all the physiological benefits to masturbation, Bruce. If you were messed up badly enough to need a house call, then you could _damn_ well use the endorphins.” She paused to see if he was going to say anything. He didn’t. “You know I’m right.”

He scowled at her. “That doesn’t mean I have to be happy about it.”

“God forbid you should be happy.” She didn’t bother trying to keep it under her breath.

“Lois…”

The growl didn’t even faze her. “Go tell Smallville that I’m waiting for him at my place. Kiss him goodbye. Then come back and think about Selina because I know you want this to be therapy instead of video phone sex, but I’ve had _actual_ sex that was less satisfying than watching you jerk off, and I want to see how far I can push those wholesome Kansas values while Clark Kent is officially out of town on a family emergency.”

Bruce’s unhappy look slowly relaxed until he was giving her a very small smile. “That good, huh?”

“If I say yes,” she asked, crossing her arms, “are you going to stop fighting me on this?”

“I’ll be right back,” he said smugly, evading the question as usual.

  

* * *

 

Whether that had been one honey of a goodbye kiss or the possibility of discovery gave it extra spice, it didn’t take Bruce long to finish. Maybe he’d just been thinking _really hard_ about the new woman in his life. Regardless, Lois was _more_ than ready for Superman to come save the day by the time he drifted silently in through the bedroom window and alighted on the floor.

“Over here,” she invited from the bed, covers already thrown back. She’d ditched the shorts and bra in favor of just the worn and comfortable tee and traded plain white panties for the satin bikini-cut that matched her eyes.

Superman swallowed. Hard. “Lois?”

“Clark Kent’s out of town,” she purred.

He caught her meaning almost immediately. Or maybe just realized that they’d both had the same thought. “I’d ask if you’re sure, but you look pretty determined, so…” A blur of motion, and the Superman costume was a brightly-colored puddle on the floor.

He was every bit as luscious as Bruce, but without the scars. “Now this,” she muttered, feasting her eyes, “is what I call truth in advertising.” She gestured at his briefs. “You gonna take those off?”

“I don’t think I should,” he said, softening the warning by joining her on the bed.

Lois ran her hands up his abs, across his pecs, into his hair and pulled him down for a kiss. “Mm. Why not?”

“Because we aren’t going all the way,” he answered. If his abs weren’t every bit as firm as his voice, she might object.

She kissed him again, deeper. “How far are we going, then?”

One warm hand slid down her arm, rested on her hip. He gave her an Adonis smile that made all his farmboy flustering a lie. “What’s the rush?”

She considered that while he lay down beside her, pulled her to that _delicious_ chest of his, worshipped her mouth with his. He had a point. This was a rare opportunity, and she was _not_ about to waste it.

Somewhere past the half-hour mark, they rounded the bend and slid into third, Clark’s fingers dipping beneath violet satin and Lois’s shirt long since abandoned. Turnabout was fair play, right? Wasn’t there a saying about geese and ganders? She wasn’t doing very good at concentrating on anything besides how much she wanted more, but she was pretty sure he wouldn’t object if her fingers went wandering.

Sure enough, he groaned as she gripped his Rod of Steel, but didn’t pull away. In fact, he redoubled his efforts in her panties. In turn, she wrestled him into a better position for some good old-fashioned handiwork and the next few minutes passed _very_ pleasantly. She was getting close and he sounded like he was getting closer, and then they started sounding like a Beatles cliché because she was saying _yes,_ but he was saying _no_.

“No,” he moaned weakly. “Lois, stop. No.”

His fingers weren’t stopping, so neither was she.

“No, stop, don’t…no…”

Almost there. He was bucking against her hand, and she tightened her grip, pressing against his fingers in turn.

“No…Lois, stop!”

Suddenly he wrenched out of her grip and there was a noise like a bullet hitting the ceiling or the wall behind her, only no gunshot to explain it, and Clark sighed in involuntary bliss leaving her aching but terrified.

“What just happened?” she demanded, survival trumping pleasure.

“The reason we’re not going all the way,” Clark said dryly. His cock twitched and began slinking back beneath his tighty-whiteys.

“You came,” she accused. Irrational anger warred with the terror and the disappointment of being denied her own climax.

“Faster than a speeding bullet, stronger than a locomotive.”

Slowly, she sat up and turned to inspect her wall. There was a small hole, like a bullet had actually been shot at it, and a pale viscous substance dribbling slowly down from the hole.

Well, _that_ sure killed the mood.

“It’s not fair,” she huffed, glaring at her abused wall. “Everyone’s getting off but me.”

“Do you want me to-”

Lois climbed angrily over him and reclaimed her bra. “No.”

“Lois, I’m sorry.”

Don’t look, Lois. You know he’s going to give you the hangdog eyes. Don’t look.

She kept her back turned as he got out of bed, managing to get the bra fastened and into place before he stopped behind her, arms sliding around her, the warmth of his skin against hers melting her determination.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed into her ear, making her shiver. “I should have told you that would happen."

“Yeah,” she grumped. “You should have.”

One hand slid higher, fingertips teasing her nipple through the fabric of her bra while the other went lower, slipping beneath violet satin again. “Let me make it up to you.”

A thought crossed her mind and shot straight down her spine, leaving delicious tingles of anticipation in its wake. Super-strength and super-speed might just work out to her advantage after all.

“Okay.” She threw the word out as a challenge. “But not like this.” Defiant, she turned around in his arms and pulled him down for a kiss, deliberately deepening it and testing the motion of his tongue. “Like that,” she demanded as they parted.

Watching realization spread across his face was something she’d treasure forever. Confusion blossomed into comprehension, which faded into embarrassment as he caught the implication and then retreated before gratification as it occurred to him that curses are just misapplied blessings, and then he looked eager and smug.

She unhooked the bra and tossed it over her shoulder while he slid both thumbs into the waistband of her panties and tugged them down for her to step out of. Then he scooped her up and carried her back to bed.

That, she thought muzzily an indeterminate time later, was possibly the best idea she’d ever had and she didn’t care _in the slightest_ if Miss L. L. had been the one those techniques had been honed on originally because they were being used on _her_ now, and if that girly fantasy wound up being a reality she was _so_ going to make Lana one of her bridesmaids just to rub it in that he was _hers_ now until death did they part.

“Am I forgiven?” he asked as he stretched out beside her.

With a quiet groan, she rolled over and pressed her face against his rock-hard chest. “Keep doing that, and I’ll let you have the by-line.”

He laughed quietly. “On what?”

“On Superman’s engagement to one Lois Lane, Daily Planet.”

“I told you,” he said sternly, but she could hear the grin. “I wanted anything between us to be _without_ the cape.”

“Which you’re not wearing at the moment.”

“You know what I mean.”

“And it’s going to have to wait while Clark Kent has alleged gay sex with Bruce Wayne and then whatever happens with Selina Kyle and then maybe once Kent’s gay phase is over no one will think twice about him rebounding with me. Either way, you are _mine_ , buster. You and that amazing tongue of yours.”

The way his arms tightened around her, just for a second, hinted that he hadn’t thought he had _that_ much of a chance with her.

“You really mean that?” he asked in a hushed whisper.

Lois sighed and tossed pretense out the window. “Yeah, I really do. You’re infuriating sometimes, but I love you.”

“And it really doesn’t bother you, the idea of sharing me with Bruce?”

She snorted. “Two of the hottest men on the planet going at it? No, Smallville, I am scarred for life. The only cure is to let me join in, or at least watch. I hope Selina feels the same way; it would be nice to have a girlfriend who I could commiserate and-slash-or make appreciative comments with. I’ll make her my Maid of Honor if you make Bruce your Best Man.”

“Is that a promise, or a threat?” he teased.

“Both. And I want Lana designing my dress.”

“And that,” he said in dead seriousness, “is why I love you.”

She leaned back to prod his chest with one finger and glare up at him. “Don’t think this changes anything,” she warned. “You want my stories, you’re going to have to steal them from me the old-fashioned way, like everyone else.”

He looked _way_ too cheerful at that. “Good. I wouldn’t have it any other way. Was there anything else you wanted to lay on the table?”

Now that he mentioned it…

“Yeah. First, one of us is going to have to ask Bruce to figure out a condom that your little swimmers can’t break.” The look on his face was _priceless_. “Second, _are_ you gay for him?”

“I need to think about that,” he said slowly. “But I also need to know what _he_ wants, because I get the feeling if I said yes, he’d go along with it just to make me happy.”

Lois frowned at how much sense that made. “Okay. You figure yourself out, and I’ll push him to do the same.”


	4. The seventh time, he was nervous

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I meant to put this up on Friday and here it is, three days later. As an apology, check the end of chapter notes for a teaser snippet from the eighth time.

The seventh time, he was nervous.

“It’s perfectly normal,” Lois told him for the fifth time in as many minutes, rolling her eyes. “You care about him. You _love_ him. Of _course_ you’re going to be nervous about this. Everyone’s nervous when they’re about to confess how they feel about someone they love – or when they’re about to find out how someone they love feels about them.”

“ _He’s_ not,” Clark protested, knowing even as he said the words that he sounded petulant.

She gave him a sharp look, hands on her hips. “If he tells you that, he’s lying. How long until…?”

Until Batman arrived and Lois brought their double-blind confession out into the open. She’d insisted on them being in her apartment to hear it in person. Partially, he suspected, because she didn’t trust that they’d actually discuss it with each other if left to their own devices. And, he thought with an internal wince, she was probably right. That’s why Superman was standing nervously in her living room, waiting for Batman to appear like a monster out of a Japanese horror flick. It was kind of surreal when you looked at it objectively, he thought. Too bad he was having trouble keeping objective about this.

“Yoo-hoo,” Lois called, waving a hand in front of his face. “Earth to Superman. How long?”

Clark blinked and shook his head, then focused his super-hearing, listening for…

A heartbeat in the apartment with them. He should have known. “How long have you been there?” he called up to Batman, who was examining the wall above Lois’s bed.

“Long enough,” came the infuriating reply.

Lois looked like she was counting to ten. In Chinese. “If you get my sheets dirty, I’ll skin you alive,” she announced, not even turning to glare in his direction.

“You’d never catch me,” he replied, seemingly unfazed.

Clark opened his mouth to say, _I would._

“Third pocket on the right from the flash-bangs.”

Third pocket on the…? X-ray vision revealed nothing he could see in that pocket; the entire container was lined with-

-lined with lead. The kryptonite.

“You wouldn’t!”

“Try me.”

Clark sighed. He would.

“What are you doing up there?” Lois asked, irritation forgotten.

A rustle, a whoosh, and Batman landed on the floor and stalked towards them. “Measuring the hole in your wall and doing some rough calculations.” He glanced at Clark. “I’ll need you to replicate that for me at some point so I can get more accurate data – not to mention a fresh sample so I can ensure there’s no unfortunate reactions with the material.”

There had to be something he was missing. “Material for what?” he asked.

Lois snickered.

…right. The hole in the wall he’d made accidentally while Clark Kent was officially out of town on a family emergency. “Never mind.”

Before he could really let himself think about what kind of sample he’d be providing, Lois clapped her hands.

“Okay! Let’s get this started.” She pointed to one of the two chairs she’d had him move to the center of the room. “Superman, sit there.” As soon as she pointed to the other, positioned such that the occupants could look easily at each other or at a speaker standing equidistant, Batman flowed over and sat.

Suddenly nervous again, Clark took his seat.

“First,” she said sternly, hands back on her hips, “I’d like to say that I’m disappointed in both of you for this even being necessary. But I don’t blame you,” she went on grimly. “I blame Hollywood for its pervasive message of heterosexual intercourse being the be-all and end-all of human relationships. A man and a woman can’t be friends without also wanting to be lovers; two men can’t bond without gratuitous violence to reinforce their masculinity and assure the world they’re not gay.”

From the way Batman’s eyes were narrowed behind the cowl, Clark guessed he was probably one step ahead of what Lois intended to say.

“And as for two women, _well_ , you can forget about anything going on between _them!_ ” she spat. “They just need the right man to show them what love is. And by love, I mean sex.” Lois sighed. “Which neither of you want to have with each other.”

That was _not_ what Clark was expecting her to say next. “We…don’t?”

“You don’t,” she repeated. “You, Superman, express your feelings physically because Hollywood has brainwashed you into thinking that kisses and sexual acts are the only way to show your love. And you, Batman, _don’t_ want to express your feelings physically because you associate the acts with false pretenses and insincerity, but you don’t know what else to do so you tolerate them from him as a sort of demonstration by omission. Both of you, ironically, would be perfectly willing to sexually pleasure the other but don’t actually desire the other to sexually pleasure _you_.” Lois crossed her arms and said with dry amusement, “You’re ruining my orgy fantasies, you know.”

“I’m willing if Selina doesn’t mind,” Bruce said instantly.

Clark blushed. “I, uh, guess I don’t mind either.”

She didn’t look convinced. “We’ll talk about it once the four of us can talk about it. In the meantime, don’t you two have some serious snuggling to do?”

“I’ll meet you there,” Batman said, already vanishing around the corner and how did he _do_ that?

Superman stood more slowly, eyes on the bedroom window where his x-ray vision showed Batman jumping into the cockpit of the Batwing. Even with his best flight speed, Bruce would probably beat him back unless he left just as suddenly. That was fine; he’d laid everything out before coming over.

“Thank you for doing this,” he told Lois solemnly.

She waved it away. “It was nothing. Always willing to help two friends out. Especially since _he’s_ been tying himself into emotional knots about this.” She stepped closer and hugged him, and he hugged carefully back. In a low voice, she said, “Go make him happy. He doesn’t get enough of that.”

 

* * *

 

 

He thought about that as he took his time flying back. Bruce _slept_ when he didn’t have to be either Batman or Bruce Wayne, which not only meant he didn’t have enough time to actually enjoy himself between both sets of responsibilities, but also that he very likely didn’t know who he was if he wasn’t being either of them. Clark had at least had a normal upbringing to ground him; he knew who he was and what he liked, and he knew what he’d do with himself if he didn’t have to be Superman on top of his normal day-to-day life. He doubted that many people knew either Bruce Wayne or Batman well enough to realize that there was nothing in between, and that worried him – not just for Bruce, but for Selina.

When he dropped down into the bedroom, Bruce was nowhere to be seen although the Batsuit was draped over the chair. A quick check through the walls showed him in the living room, reading the back of the DVD case. Clark suspected that Bruce owned the entire Gray Ghost box set, but he’d decided to purchase copies of the DVDs for himself. If it was something that made Bruce happy, it was worth investing in. Which brought everything back around to Selina.

Quickly, he stripped out of the suit and tucked it away, then just as quickly slipped into his pajamas and carefully flew through the door to land lightly beside his guest. He hated to potentially spoil a good, mood, but…

“Bruce,” he said quietly, “we have to talk.”

The DVD case trembled slightly. “I know.”

Clark blinked. “You do?”

Bruce set the case on the table and turn around as though facing a firing squad. “I visited Selina.”

“That’s great! …isn’t it?” he asked hesitantly when the other man’s expression didn’t soften any.

“I made sure she knew who I was,” he said in Batman’s gravely voice, clearly expecting a negative reaction.

He got a hug.

“That’s good, Bruce,” Clark said softly. “That’s good. I’m proud of you for taking such a big step.”

Some part of that must have been the magic word, because Bruce went from _hostile tiger statue_ to _scared child in a man’s body_ and hugged desperately back. “She loves me,” he whispered raggedly. “Not just Batman. She loves Bruce Wayne, too. That’s why I told her. Discreetly. But she knows. She’s beautiful and fierce and clever and she doesn’t hate me for what I did, and…” He took a minute to calm his breathing while Clark murmured _that’s good_ over and over again. “And when she gets out, she’s probably going to expect me to be a functional adult instead of a façade and a cowl covering a pile of issues,” he said dryly, “and I have no idea what I’m going to do, but I’m already half-convinced I’m going to ruin it and leave you to pick up the bloody pieces.”

Clark hugged him tighter. “If you fall apart, I’ll pick you up,” he promised. “But you’re asking for help, and I’m proud of you for _that_ , too, because that’s an even bigger step.” After a moment, he grinned and asked in a lightly teasing tone, “How long did it take you to work up the courage to say this to me?”

“Consecutively, or in total?” was the self-depreciating answer. “Two weeks from the time it first occurred to me, probably about eight hours thinking about it directly in segments ranging from thirty seconds to a minute and a half.”

“Bruce…” He leaned back, intending to lay a kiss on the other man’s temple, and then stopped. Unhappy look aside, the thought that Bruce only _tolerated_ that kind of gesture made him uncomfortable. “Talk to me,” he said instead. “What do you need?”

Narrowed eyes suggested Bruce hadn’t missed that little internal conflict. “Do it,” he growled. “What I _need_ is a reminder that not all gestures of affection originate in a lie, and I need practice at making them without intent to deceive. So whatever you were going to do, whatever your impulse is to do, _do it_ because I don’t want Selina thinking the wrong thing. I know I can mess up with you and you’ll forgive me. If I mess up with her, I won’t forgive _myself_.”

“And how long were you thinking about _that?_ ” Clark asked softly.

Bruce closed his eyes and sighed, tension already creeping back into his posture. “Too damn long.”

A kiss on the temple, one hand in Bruce’s hair, and when he went for the lips they were already parted and waiting. This time, Bruce was neither emotionally distraught nor half-conscious. This time, the kiss was as elegant as Batman’s fighting, as dangerous as Bruce Wayne’s lady-killer smile. Even knowing that Bruce wasn’t gay, that _he_ wasn’t gay, it was making him feel weak in the knees. When Bruce let him up for air – and it was unquestionably a deliberate release, making him wonder just how long the other man could keep that up – he shook his head to clear it and blinked several times.

“Wow,” he muttered, still dazed enough that Bruce’s slightly-smug expression didn’t even register for a long moment. “No wonder Lois is always so happy to see you.”

“She’ll be sorry she missed seeing this,” he practically purred.

Clark grinned. “Not if we do it again where she _can_ see. You need to practice, right?”

“Tell you what. When you come visit me to give me velocity and impact measurements, I’ll turn on the encrypted video channel.” He sounded far too amused at Clark’s lingering reaction.

The thought that they’d be kissing, in the Batcave, with Lois watching, before he…

He felt like his face was on fire, and even Bruce’s rare laugh couldn’t quench it. “So…is that how you kiss all the ladies?”

“The techniques are the same,” he conceded, “but the execution…it varies. Usually, I focus on what Bruce Wayne is supposed to be feeling.” The amusement faded, leaving him looking more vulnerable than Clark was used to. “This time, I focused on how much you actually _care_ about me.”

How much he cared about Bruce. In other words, how much _Bruce_ cared about _him._ He thought that would have made him turn a deeper red, but it just made him feel warm and fuzzy. From the tentative smile on Bruce’s face, he guessed he must be beaming, but he only had a few seconds to wonder before he had a dark head on his shoulder and a broken, scarred, but defiant man nestled comfortably in his arms.

“Not afraid to let yourself have what you want?” he murmured, pleased with the novelty of not being the one initiating the hug for once.

“I know what I’m offering and what I’m not; and more importantly, so do _you_. I know how far I can go. Now the trick is letting myself open up that much.”

“One step at a time,” Clark reassured him. “We’ll get there. You can practice on me. I’m sure Selina will understand if you explain it to her – and if you want, I’ll explain for you.”

“No.” The word was hard and cold, a frigid spike of verbal steel at odds with the warm and relaxed bulk of his body. “It has to be me. If it’s going to work between us, there can’t be _any_ deception.” He sighed and pressed his face deeper into the curve of Clark’s neck. “I’m not looking forward to it,” he muttered, the words somewhat muffled.

“I wish you could have seen her when I was there,” Clark said softly. “She told me I was good, but that I wasn’t you. The way she said it…there was pride there, and loyalty. When I told her that I needed to know if she still cared, she knew that anything she said could be relayed back to you and I could see that she wanted it – that she wanted _you_ – but she was proud. She wouldn’t beg.”

The lips pressed against his skin curved. “That’s my girl,” he breathed.

“She said you have the eyes of a lion. When I told her that your eyes had been tired and bloodshot, _that’s_ when she promised to do whatever it took if you hadn’t given up on her. She wouldn’t beg for her own sake, but she begged for yours.”

Bruce went rigid in his arms. “Her lawyer said that after your visit, she started cooperating fully. Like the fight hadn’t gone _out_ of her exactly, but that she’d switched sides. She was already doing what she could to prove her intentions to me.” His breath caught and, for a long moment, he held it. “You’re a good friend, Clark,” he said finally. “Thank you.”

Clark kissed his hair. “You’re still afraid of messing up.”

“Terrified.”

“Tell her that first, when she gets out. She’ll understand.” Gently, he stepped back to examine Bruce’s forlorn expression. “Just give her that look, and she’ll be falling over herself to reassure you.”

He didn’t look convinced. “How can you be sure of that?”

“Because that’s what it makes _me_ want to do.”

Slowly, as if Bruce were a cat that might bolt at any moment, Clark leaned in and kissed him. He was afraid that Bruce would pull away, but although the forlorn expression hardened into something more like determination, the most he did was close his eyes and wait. He tried to focus on what he was feeling – the deep affection, the trust, the desire to help, the concern, the impossible wish to erase the pain of the past and free Bruce from his self-imposed shackles – and keep the kiss slow and gentle. Surprisingly, Bruce cooperated. When he broke the kiss an indeterminate time later, the expression on the other man’s face was…serene. Contemplative. Clark wished he had a camera.

“I still don’t feel like I deserve it,” Bruce said calmly, eyes still shut. “But you _do_ , and my being happy makes you happy.” His eyes snapped open, hard as lapis. “Selina begged for me, but she wouldn’t beg for herself. I won’t hurt her again, not if I can help it. Feeling like I don’t deserve to be happy is irrelevant; if the ones I care about _want_ me to be happy, then what I want doesn’t matter.”

There was nothing Clark could say to that, really. So he deflected. “Except when I’m placing an order for delivery. Then, nothing matters _but_ what you want.” He grinned at Bruce’s startled expression, anticipating the laugh. “So…what do you want?”

He wasn’t disappointed.

 

* * *

 

 

It was a very unsettling evening. Not in a bad way, mind. It was just that with Bruce making a concerted effort to open up, to let himself have what he wanted, the usual give-and-take Clark was used to…vanished. Bruce seemed to be fighting himself – he’d start to make a gesture, like smiling warmly or putting his arm around Clark’s shoulders, and then frown and flinch away before looking warily at his host and completing the gesture, sometimes grimly. Wrestling with the façade, he explained while the ending credits of _The Mad Bomber_ were playing. He was used to making the gestures without feeling genuine emotion behind them, and he was having to remind himself that he _could_ make the gestures out of actual affection and not have them be a lie.

When there were only two episodes to go, Clark took the remote and kissed Bruce’s temple. “Relax,” he whispered. “You’ve been pushing yourself all evening. This is something you can enjoy without being either Batman or Bruce Wayne; you can spare an hour to just be _you_.”

For an instant, he looked ready to protest. Then it faded into graceful surrender. Slowly, Bruce leaned back and settled in against him, chuckling. “I _told_ you I don’t know how to be happy.”

Clark gave the remote back so he could drape both arms around his guest. “You’ve been leading a double life for so long that you’ve forgotten who you are when you’re not on the clock – _if_ you ever knew to begin with. I’m worried about you, Bruce.”

The man snuggled up against his chest sighed. “I don’t know if that person ever existed. There’s pieces. The remnants of my eight-year-old self. The moments when Batman comforts a civilian. The times that Bruce Wayne…” Absently, he paused the DVD. A minute and a half passed while he thought about something. “I can salvage Bruce Wayne,” he said at last. “With Selina’s help, that is.”

This sounded promising. “Tell me.”

“I’ve built Bruce Wayne into a buffoon, a skirt-chaser with a drinking problem and a head full of fluff. He’s got a good heart, and he’s sharp enough when he’s not drunk or distracted, but I make sure to act up enough that it’s easy to dismiss him. There’s…a lot more of me that shows behind Bruce Wayne’s smile than I’d thought,” he said slowly. “When Selina gets out, if she’s willing to put up with me even more than you do…I can alter the mask of Bruce Wayne to fit better. He’ll stop flirting with every pair of breasts that crosses his path. It’s far past time he settled down, anyway. She’ll curb his drinking. Not that I actually do any of it, but when you’ve gone without sleep past a certain point…well, a few splashes of wine or champagne on my neck and no one would believe I hadn’t had a drop of it.”

“Hold on a second,” Clark said sharply. “When you get so sleep-deprived that you’re impaired, you _go out in public_ to reinforce the image of Bruce Wayne being drunk instead of sleeping?”

“I sleep afterwards,” Bruce retorted in Batman’s voice. “It explains why I’m unavailable until noon the next day. I’ve been doing this for _years_ , Clark. I don’t need a lecture from you.”

“I’m sorry.” He kissed the other man’s hair, then pressed his cheek against it. “It’s not my place to tell you how to keep your secrets. I’m just worried because I care.”

Slowly, the sense of hugging a brass tiger faded. “I’m sorry I snapped at you.” It was still Batman’s voice, but upset at himself rather than angry at Clark.

“Forgiven,” he said instantly. “You were saying Selina will curb Bruce Wayne’s drinking?”

He could hear the smirk in Bruce’s voice when he said, “If he stops appearing in public late at night when she’s on his arm in the afternoon, no one will question it. They don’t need to know that the sleeping I’ll be doing won’t be euphemistic.”

Well, that would take care of a lot of Bruce Wayne’s reputation, he had to admit. “What about the head full of fluff?”

“I’ll hire her,” he answered easily. “You’ve met her; she’s sharp. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind playing bad cop to my good cop, and if Bruce Wayne starts being quicker on the uptake…”

“…people will assume she rubbed off on you,” Clark finished. “Very clever.”

“I don’t have to keep Bruce Wayne as a mask forever,” Bruce said softly, wistfully. “I’m not trapped behind his reputation. I can take my name back, make my public face into something that’s actually _me_ …provided she’s willing to be that big a part of my life.”

Clark hugged him tighter. “I get the feeling that _your_ acceptance of _her_ secrets means as much to her as it did to you when she accepted yours.”

As he pressed _play_ , Bruce muttered, “I hope you’re right.”

 

* * *

 

 

Despite the solemn conversation they’d had, when the DVD returned to the main menu at the completion of season one, Bruce was a warm and comfortable weight in his arms and he grumbled good-naturedly about having to move.

“I could carry you,” Clark teased.

Bruce turned to grin up at him. He had just enough time to register the feeling of impending _something_ before one hand on the back of his neck urged his head down and he was being kissed in a way that made his heart race and his arms tighten around the man half-sprawled over his lap. When it was over and Bruce’s chuckle traced a path from the couch all the way to the bathroom, all Clark could think about was that Batman _cared_ about him, and how grateful he was to have earned that level of trust.

When he entered the bedroom, still slightly dazed, the bed was unoccupied and a pair of strong arms slid around him from behind.

“This time,” Bruce murmured into his ear, “I want to be the one holding you.”

_Well, when you put it that way, how can I refuse?_ That’s what Clark wanted to say. Or maybe, _You are a very dangerous man, Mr. Wayne._ Possibly something witty about saying that to all the Kryptonians. But no, this application of charm had successfully driven such eloquence out of his reach and what came out was a breathy, “Okay.”

That earned a soft laugh that made him shiver as it caressed his ear, and the arms let go. “Now you know how I keep my reputation,” he said in a voice that should have been thick with amusement but instead was dark and smooth and sweet, like melting chocolate.

Clark shook his head and glanced at the other man, unsurprised but thrilled to see him grinning. “You are a _very_ dangerous man,” he mock-accused.

“So I’ve been told,” he retorted cheerfully. “Come on, into bed.”

Obediently, Clark laid down on his side. As Bruce slid in behind him, arms encircling him, cheek pressed against his hair, he thought that Selina Kyle was a very lucky woman. Hard on the heels of that thought was the private admission that Bruce’s accusation of being a pushover might have some weight to it after all. He didn’t exactly long for the hand on his chest to move lower, like Lois’s had, but if that’s what would make Bruce happy then he would submit to it willingly, even cheerfully. Briefly, he wondered if that was normal. Then he laughed silently at himself. He was an alien, the last of his race. Who could say what normal was for him? As long as everyone was happy and no one was hurt, what did it matter?

Clark twined his fingers around Bruce’s, lifted the other man’s hand to his lips for a light kiss. The arm around his chest tightened.

“Selina made me see how arrogant I had been,” Bruce murmured into his hair. “I’m sorry.”

How long had that been festering, waiting for the right moment to be confessed? “I forgive you because I know you know better now,” he replied quietly. “What did she do?”

“She told Bruce Wayne that he didn’t need the scandal of being involved with a criminal or the heartache of knowing her heart belonged to Batman. It hurt, hearing her close the door without asking if I was even interested, denying me the chance to make that decision for myself. I hurt you, and Lois, by doing that. _I won’t do it again_ ,” he promised in an iron tone one would expect to be used for things like swearing undying vengeance.

“Has the mighty Batman finally met his match?” Clark teased.

The laugh was unexpected. “Red Claw,” he chuckled. “When she stole the plague canister. She told me I’d finally met my match, and that unsurprisingly, it was a woman. She was right, but it wasn’t her.” He hugged Clark tighter. “Selina’s lawyer is good; he was on the Red Claw connection before I even talked to him. We expect the DA’s office to offer her a plea bargain. The case goes before a judge in three weeks.”

“And the penthouse?”

The chuckle this time was more dry. “Decorating and redecorating will keep me occupied enough to not drive myself crazy until she gets out.”

“Just remember to sleep,” Clark told him firmly.

Bruce was silent for so long that his breathing was the only proof he hadn’t fallen asleep. He tried not to worry, but failed. So he counted, counted his heartbeats, counted Bruce’s, trying to build a wall of numbers to hold panic at bay, but it trembled and collapsed like a house of cards.

“Bruce?”

“You’re worried about me,” he said as if the last five or ten minutes hadn’t happened. It almost sounded like some obscure piece of evidence he was pointing out.

“You’re my friend.”

“Why?”

The question hung there between them, in the dark. Clark took his time answering, sifting through words and feelings, trying to describe something he’d never defined, even to himself.

Quietly, he said, “What we do, all of us, isn’t easy. To dedicate that much time and energy to making the world a better place, to saving it from itself and defending it from outside threats…it takes a toll. Maybe it’s lighter on Diana and J’onn because they have little or nothing outside of it, but it still takes a toll even on them. None of us are exactly slackers, but you…you work harder than any of us. You were doing this before any of us. You have more invested in your public life than any of us. The rest of us were given something that makes our work easier; you had something taken from you. But if anyone could take us all down in a worst-case scenario, it’s you – and it would take all of us to bring you down non-lethally if you were the one that turned. You looked into the abyss, _became_ the abyss, climbed _out_ of the abyss, and kept going. I…” Clark closed his eyes, hand tightening around Bruce’s. “I will never be as strong as you. If I’d gone through what you went through, it would have broken me. But you go out in a costume every night, and you wear a mask every day, and you pour so much of yourself into helping others that there’s almost nothing left over for you. I became a superhero because of you, because I was following your example. At first I thought you were a super or a meta, and I looked up to you because of that. When I learned the truth…I was humbled. You, Bruce, are the best humanity has to offer.”

A derisive snort ruffled his hair.

“It’s true,” Clark said firmly. “Whenever my faith in humanity dries up, I think of you. Of how you could have shattered, or turned bad, or just became the useless fop Bruce Wayne gets dismissed as – but you didn’t. You turned around and devoted your life, both sides of it, to helping others. No matter how bad it gets, you keep going. And when I start to have doubts about what I’m doing, I look towards Gotham and remember that if you can still see something worth fighting for, then so can I.”

“I think you attribute too much to me,” Batman growled, but he wasn’t angry.

“Don’t care. I look up to you, I respect you, I’m humbled by you, and I’m _terrified_ because now I know you well enough to see the cracks you’ve been keeping taped up behind your masks. Until you showed up with hypothermia, I’d have nightmares that you died and someone spoke badly about you at your funeral and I snapped and went off on them for it, blowing both our secrets wide open. After that…” He gripped Bruce’s hand harder, not missing that Bruce returned the pressure. “After that, after I learned how much I mean to you, they changed into nightmares where you were hurt and bleeding somewhere and _dying_ and I couldn’t get to you. I couldn’t save you. I’m worried about you,” he said in a small voice, blinking back tears, “because super-strength and speed and hearing and everything else Superman can do…none of it is any use when it comes to helping you. _If_ you even let me help you in the first place. You don’t always _want_ help. That’s the part that scares me the most.”

He fell silent, all the words having trickled out and dried up, and waited. This time, he had no fear that his friend had fallen asleep; one thumb was rubbing slow circles into the back of his hand.

“I didn’t have a reason to want help.” The words were dark and soft, like the breath of air that might precede something emerging from a cave. “I keep close track of everyone I think might know my secret, and watch them closely. If one of them puts two and two together, I have to be ready to act in case they take it badly.”

Clark nodded; a deception like that wouldn’t be easy to forgive.

“The only ones who knew both sides of me had watched Batman being born despite their urging me towards a healthier path. You were the first one to discover my secret; you peeked. But you didn’t blow my cover – you could have tipped Lois off, don’t even try to deny it – and you worked with me. Initially, I _had_ to trust you.”

“Not that you did,” he teased.

Batman chuckled. “Not that I did. But you proved yourself. So I took the chance and made the decision to come to you for help the first time. But I still wasn’t sure you _wanted_ to help, that you weren’t just helping out of a sense of obligation. That’s why I gave myself hypothermia,” he said grimly. Then he sighed, making Clark shiver as his breath caressed his hair. “That, and other reasons you picked up on. It was the first time I _wanted_ help patching the cracks, but I didn’t know what you could possibly do. I just knew that I couldn’t keep going like that, and that _your_ answer wouldn’t be ‘stop being Batman’. I can’t do that, Clark. You know that.”

He did.

“Until you, if I died, the people who knew both sides would shake their heads and sigh because they’d seen it coming. The ones who didn’t would be shocked and angry that I hadn’t trusted them…or disappointed they didn’t get to off me themselves. But you…” Bruce’s arms tightened around him again. “You’d mourn. You’re a damned super-powered puppy, good and noble and kind and forgiving and all the things I’m not, and if I died because of something that could have been prevented if only I’d let you help, then your pain would be _my fault_. I don’t kill in part because I refuse to be the cause of the kind of pain I went through, but if I let myself die, that’s exactly what I’d be doing to you.”

Clark struggled to turn over, to face him, and Bruce shifted slightly to accommodate that. His expression, as best Clark could see in the dim light, was a study in grief and pain, like something Van Gogh might have done. When Clark pulled him closer, cradled that dark head to his chest, he didn’t resist.

“I need help,” Bruce whispered into sky-blue flannel. “I _want_ help. Don’t let me convince you otherwise. I used to think I’d just keep going until something killed me. That’s not an option anymore, but I don’t know how...” The words trailed off, his throat closing up.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, kissing one temple as Bruce’s breath shuddered. “I’m here. I’ll help you. It’s okay.”

He didn’t _quite_ cry, which Clark was guiltily grateful for because nothing made him feel powerless like seeing Batman break down. Slowly, the broken breathing eased. The fists that had been knotted in his pajamas loosened, and the anguished expression smoothed out.

“I’m here. I care about you. I won’t let you fall. It’s okay.”

He lay awake long after Bruce had drifted into sleep, cuddling the older man and stroking his hair, trying to sort through the tangled emotions the evening had stirred up. Anger, irrational and sharp, at the people who knew Batman’s secret and somehow hadn’t pressed home that they cared – assuming they did care, but that was a doubt Clark was willing to give them the benefit of. Exasperated despair because he knew Bruce was as dense as a brick wall about that sort of thing, and had likely done more than his fair share of causing that situation to begin with. Fragile wonder that he’d managed to penetrate Batman’s defenses so deeply, welling gratitude for Ma and Pa’s unwavering love and support. Apprehension, stabbing spikes of fear for the future, both trying to get his friend stabilized and how Selina Kyle would handle things – but strangely, no jealousy. He wondered for a long minute if that was because he was really that selfless, or if that lack stemmed from being utterly secure in how much he meant to Bruce.

Would she understand, he wondered? Would she step fearlessly up to help the man she’d defended, the man she’d begged on behalf of? He hoped so, he really did, both because Bruce deserved to be happy and because he was going to be _very_ angry at her if she broke Bruce’s heart.

“You’re lucky you’re worth the frustration,” he murmured, kissing the sleeping man’s temple fondly.

 

* * *

 

 

A hand on his shoulder woke him, and it wasn’t a surprise when that hand was Batman’s. He hadn’t pulled the cowl on yet, at least, and Bruce gave him a faint, wistful smile as he blinked and rubbed his eyes.

“I hate this part,” he grumbled, sitting up.

Batman’s voice was dry and rough. “I’m not exactly fond of it, either. The penthouse will be complete by the end of the month, and then we won’t have to do it this way. In the meantime…” He trailed off, looking grimly uncertain, the same expression he’d worn last night every time he forced himself to not flinch away from gestures of affection.

Clark felt his spirits rise a little. “I actually get a hug before you go?”

Spread arms were his answer, and he surged out of bed and into them. Batman’s cloak enfolded him, something that couldn’t possibly have felt as reassuring as it did. For a very long, comfortable minute they stood there, aware that each passing second brought sunrise closer, and that Batman had to be away before that happened. Finally, Clark stepped back. Batman released him, but his gloved hands didn’t reach for the cowl. Instead, they went to Clark’s cheeks and he found himself being kissed, rough and fierce, Batman instead of Bruce Wayne.

_I need help. I want help. Don’t let me convince you otherwise._

“Fly safe,” he breathed as the desperate kiss ended. “Call if you need me.”

“I will.”

This time, watching the cowl go on didn’t hurt. He knew what was behind the walls, and he wasn't afraid that they’d keep him out. Bruce cared; they’d come down for him. Batman flowed out of the room, silent as a shadow, and Clark traced his heartbeat to the balcony, where it merged with the near-silent Batwing. He stood by the window, watching even though there was nothing to see, as that unique sound sped towards Gotham, and only turned away when the noise became too quiet for him to follow while still half asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Teaser snippet from 'The eighth time...'
> 
> For several minutes they sat and ate in silence, Clark waving Bruce over to sit between them on the couch, Lois quietly impressed by the volume of food he was putting away. He relaxed more slowly than usual – Clark guessed it was Lois’s presence – but he did relax and when he finally cracked open a fortune cookie, he was sandwiched comfortably between them again.  
> “You will be invited to an exciting event,” he announced, underwhelmed by the prediction of something that likely happened several times a month.  
> Lois interjected, “In bed.”  
> Clark choked.  
> “What?” She turned her head to grin at him. “Don’t you play the fortune cookie game? You add ‘in bed’ to the end of your fortune. Here…” Leaning over, she grabbed one from the table and popped the wrapper open. The cookie cracked neatly in half, and she absently fed each piece to Bruce while extracting the slip of paper. “Fame and fortune will soon be yours…in bed.”  
> “The bed’s big enough for that,” Bruce said mildly, “but I don’t think you want to get your suit wrinkled, and we’re not doing anything but sleeping until I’ve had a chance to discuss it with Selina.” Without even looking, he laughed at Clark’s expression.   
> “He’s fortune,” Lois grinned, “and you’re fame.”  
> “You’re enjoying this too much,” he said sulkily.  
> Bruce was also enjoying this too much. “Grab one for him.”  
> “Generosity will repay itself sooner than you imagine. In bed. Nope!” The paper fluttered to the floor as she sat up to glare accusingly at him. “Nope, nu-uh, no way, not until I’m not in danger of getting my head blown off – and I’m not swallowing.”  
> Embarrassment and shame warred for dominance with arousal, making his blood rush in his ears, but it still didn’t drown out Bruce laughing until he was gasping for air and blind from tears of mirth. Lois had scrabbled away until she was nearly sitting on the arm of the couch, as far from him as she could get without standing up.


	5. Bruce interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for not putting this up last week, someone who shall remain nameless (they know who they are) got me watching Warehouse 13 and whoops, where did the week go?

She was waiting in the room when the guard finally brought him to the door, and he took a moment to assess her through the wire-reinforced window while she was still unaware of his presence. Her hair had clearly suffered over the last few weeks; it was dry and slightly unkempt, although that may have been the rough braid it was falling out of. Her shoulders hunched in a subconscious attempt to make herself smaller, fingers knotted around each other or picking fruitlessly at the handcuffs. Her face was drawn and tired.

Prison was not kind to Selina Kyle.

He opened the door and stepped through, shutting it quickly behind him, letting his mask slip for a bare moment while he still stood where the camera couldn’t see his face. Herhead came up like a startled cat, haunted and wary until she saw his eyes, and then she smiled with such brilliance that he couldn’t help but return it.

She loved him. _If there is a dark angel watching over me_ , he prayed fleetingly, _grant that I don’t mess this up._

“Bruce!”

“Selina.” Quickly, he took the other chair and brought it around to the side so he could hold her hands. The skin of her fingers was dry. “I hear the D.A.’s office is discussing a plea bargain. How are you holding up? Can I do anything to help?”

Soft. Nearly-frantic. Exactly what would be expected of Bruce Wayne. That it happened to reflect a good portion of his true feelings was beside the point. Her fingers curled around his, pleading wordlessly.

“I’m holding up,” she said dryly, letting understatement speak for her. “Waiting on a specialist’s report to determine if they think the costume is a negative factor in my psychological profile. Ideally, they’ll decide that it’s a benign coping mechanism.”

 _For what?_ he wanted to ask, but he didn’t. Instead, he met her eyes and frowned slightly, eyebrows drawing in, and she shook her head minutely. Later, then. When she was out.

“And if they do?” he asked earnestly.

She smiled, but it was thin and wan. “Then the plea bargain doesn’t explicitly forbid me from wearing it.”

Tense; too tense. This wasn’t a casual comment, this was a razor edge she was walking. His fingers tightened in mute reassurance before he strengthened the mask and said, “Let’s hope they decide in favor of it, then,” in Bruce Wayne’s obliviously cheerful voice.

Her head tilted slightly to the right, eyes mapping his face. Tiny nod. She’d seen through the mask. “Here’s hoping.”

“So…” he kept his tone light, as if he were asking her out to lunch. “ _Is_ there anything I can do to help?”

Selina hesitated a moment, teetering on the edge of some precipice. “My cat,” she said in a voice hardly louder than a whisper, eyes closed briefly against the terrifying rush of letting go and falling, trusting him to catch her before she shattered. “I’m worried about Isis, worried she’ll try to get out to find me. Can you-” Again her eyes closed and she looked away for a moment, knuckles white with the desperate grip she had on his hands. “ _Will_ you take her, Bruce? Keep her safe?”

_Dark shape flowing like shadow in her mistress’s wake, truck barreling around the turn, frantic cry that shot through his fractured heart as it echoed the soul-deep fear and despair he’d heard once before, a wail that had burst from his mother’s lips before the gunshot’s echo had even faded, his father’s face filling almost instantly with shock and, just as quickly, draining of all expression as he began to fall…_

“Of course.” The words were out of his mouth even before the memory faded from his sight, and Selina’s grateful smile washed away the scent of old blood.

“She doesn’t trust many people, but I think she’ll trust you.”

The memory of that night hung between them: he’d flung himself into the truck’s path without a second’s thought, scooping the cat up and tumbling safely to the curb, slender body trembling against his, eyes like rings of antique gold in the dark Gotham night as the wind of the truck’s passing made his cape flutter around them. He’d wondered why the lanky creature hadn’t tried to get out of the way, and what it said about the cat burglar’s habits that such a well-trained and intelligent animal had no concept of the danger a speeding vehicle represented. That close call had been the reason he let her go; the first clue that there was more to her than just a thief.

“What should I do?” he asked in a voice as mild as the understated tone she’d used.

“You can’t force her.” Selina’s eyes, cool as Chinese jade, widened slightly in emphasis. “Ask Maeven to get the soft case. Put it on the floor in front of Isis, unzip it, and say _Isis, be a good girl for mommy_. If she trusts you, she’ll step into the case and you can zip it back up.”

Bruce Wayne would be anxious for her cat to like him; he made his voice soft and concerned. “And if she doesn’t?”

“Then tell her _Behave, Isis. Be a good girl for mommy._ Give me your hands?”

Curious, he offered them to her and watched as she pushed the sleeves of his jacket back and unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt. Then she brought his hands to her head and rubbed, catlike, against his wrists, and he understood: the oils of her skin would transfer to his. Even if Isis didn’t recognize _his_ scent from their little encounter, she was sure to smell her mistress.

“Let her sniff your wrists,” Selina said, confirming his thoughts. “She should behave. Maeven can show you her food, bowls, toys, bed, and litter box. You don’t have to do much with her – as long as she has fresh water and she’s fed twice a day, you can leave her closed in one room with her things and she’ll be fine.”

He heard a ‘but’ in there and smiled, lightly, teasingly, charmingly. “But…?”

After a moment, she returned the smile. “But, if you have time, she’s liable to be friendly and let you pet her, hold her, even play with her.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” he promised, buttoning his shirtsleeves over the precious scent on his wrists.

“Thank you,” she said quietly, those jade eyes brimming with things they couldn’t say to each other yet. “I don’t want to impose, but…”

He wanted to protest, to reach out and grab the walls she was retreating behind, tear them down, pull the door open and plead with her to not shut him out. So, this was how it felt when he’d told Clark that. “It’s not an imposition.” He smiled hesitantly, wanting to cup her cheek, to kiss her and show her how he felt, but he couldn’t – not yet. “In fact…when you’re able, I’d love to have _you_ as my guest, too.”

Once more she examined him with her sharp gaze, cataloging every nuance of his features. Then she relaxed slightly. “Thank you,” she said again with a tiny nod. “When I’m able, I’ll take you up on that.”

His relieved smile wasn’t forced or faked in the slightest.

 

* * *

 

 

Maeven had been living with Selina even before the Red Claw incident. After Selina’s arrest, it fell to her to keep the apartment in one piece and deal with the fallout. He’d had incidental contact with her, mostly via the lawyer, but this was the first time he’d gone to the apartment and she clearly wasn’t expecting him.

“Mr. Wayne!” Her voice wasn’t quite suited to a surprised squeak, but it tried. “What an unexpected – please, come in.”

She backed into the apartment, holding the door while he grinned sheepishly and half-slouched through, taking near-instant stock of the place while she closed it. “Thanks. I hope I’m not interrupting anything…?”

“No, not at all. What brings you here? Oh – can I get you anything to drink?” She was flustered, but hopeful. For herself, or for her employer?

“I’m fine, thanks. I’ve just come from visiting Selina, though.”

That got her attention. “How is she?”

“She’s holding up.” He let a bit of genuine concern slip into his voice. “We’ll know more in a few days, I guess. But she asked me to do something for her.” Wariness clouded Maeven’s face. _Selina, what were you up to? How much did you trust her with?_ “She asked if I’d take care of her cat,” he continued before it could become clear that he knew Maeven wasn’t going to say anything, but the wariness didn’t fade.

“Which one?” she asked dryly, gesturing to half a dozen that were lounging around. “She takes in strays and gets them used to being around people and other cats before giving them to shelters or re-homing them.”

Dancing around the subject. There was only one cat Selina would be worried about, and Maeven knew it. This was a test; he dialed the smile all the way up from sheepish to embarrassingly hopeless. “Isis?”

A flicker of respect crossed her face, but the wariness remained. “I don’t know…she’s not very friendly towards strangers.”

“Selina told me what to do,” he half-begged. “She said to first ask you to get the soft case.”

Maeven peered at him as sharply as Selina had, then nodded. “Alright, follow me.”

She led him into the bedroom, where a familiar shadowy shape watched from a cat bed, and fetched a soft-sided cat carrier from the closet. He took it with a grateful smile and turned to set it on the floor before remembering that Bruce Wayne had never met the cat.

“Uh…” He made a show of peering around the room. “Which one is Isis?”

“Mrow?”

Bruce blinked at the dark head which was peering up at him. Isis blinked back, her eyes the same dark gold he remembered. “Isis?”

“Row!”

Slowly, he set the carrier on the floor and pushed his sleeves back. Once the cuffs were unbuttoned and his marked wrists were exposed, he knelt and offered them to the cat. She stood, all leg and arched back, and eyed him curiously before extending her head for a sniff. Each wrist was examined, his fingers inspected in olfactory detail, and then she looked at him in what was undeniably expectation. He unzipped the carrier.

“Isis,” he said softly, “be a good girl for mommy.”

Isis looked unconvinced. He offered her his wrists again, somewhat surprised by how afraid he was of being rejected by a cat. Then again, this wasn’t _just_ a cat. This was the living, beating heart of the woman he loved.

“Behave, Isis,” he said, trying to match Selina’s tone and inflection. “Be a good girl for mommy.”

Like an answered prayer, she flowed from her bed into the carrier and he zipped it up.

Maeven knelt beside him and opened a largeish wheeled suitcase. “This is her bed,” she said unnecessarily as she picked it up and put it inside. “I’ll get her toys and her bowls.” She stood and began gathering items from various corners of the room while he watched, aware that he had passed the test. “She gets canned food twice a day – the cans are in the kitchen. The other cats just get kibble. Make sure she has fresh water at all times. Her litter box…” Maeven deposited a waterfall of toys, soft and hard and some that jingled, into the bed. “…will need to be changed once a week. I’ll fetch the bags…”

The cat carrier had mesh panels. He held his fingers to one and felt Isis rub against them through the mesh. “She misses you,” he said in the voice he’d used that night.

“I emptied it for you, Mr. Wayne,” Maeven said as she bustled back in, a thick bag of pine litter in one arm and a plastic pan in the other. As she laid it in the suitcase, he could see a box of liners and several cans of cat food stacked inside along with two pet bowls. “Just put a liner down and pour litter in – the bag has directions – and once a week lift the whole thing out.” Once she had the items arranged to her satisfaction, she paused, not looking up. “I know it’s none of my business,” she said in a low voice, “but do you love her?”

Yes; but that wasn’t something he wanted spread around just yet. “I know she’s in love with Batman,” he said sadly. “She told me that herself.” Maeven’s shoulders tensed. So, that was a surprise, hmm? “But she cares enough to be honest with me, and I care enough to turn a blind eye, so we’ll see where things go once she’s out of there.”

Now Maeven looked up at him. “You’re a good man, Mr. Wayne.” He was expecting more than that, but she stood and went back to the closet. “I’m going to pack some of her clothes; it will make Isis feel more at home.”

 _That_ wasn’t the whole truth, but Bruce Wayne would be uncertainly surprised instead of suspecting an ulterior motive. “Alright,” he said hesitantly, and watched what she packed into a second bag out of the corner of his eye while pretending to examine the cat toys.

Shirts, slacks, skirts, even a dress with matching gloves. Three pairs of shoes. Nightgowns and underthings and socks and jewelry. This wasn’t just to make Isis feel at home, this was anticipation of Selina staying for a visit. He wondered if she was acting on instructions, or of her own volition. The bag fit on top of everything else in the suitcase, holding it in place while Maeven zipped it up and slid the handle out.

“Thanks,” he said warmly as he took the handle and stood, Isis’s carrier in the other hand. “If there’s anything else I can do to help…”

Maeven shook her head. “You’re already covering her legal fees _and_ loaning her one of your lawyers, and now you’re taking care of Isis. To be honest, that’s the single biggest thing _anyone_ could ever do for her. I’m astounded she trusts you enough for that.”

“Selina,” he asked wryly, “or the cat?”

“Both,” she answered, arms crossed. “If you’re serious about her, Mr. Wayne, there’s no better way to her heart than through her cat.”

The implications shook him, made him want to pry into Selina’s past and find out who’d hurt her, but Bruce Wayne didn’t have Batman’s sharp edges. He pasted a bright smile onto his face and directed it at the cat carrier. “I’ll treat Isis like a princess,” he promised cheerfully. Then he glanced awkwardly between his full hands. “Uh…could you…”

“Oh! Let me get the door for you.”

She led the way back through the apartment and they exchanged farewells before the door closed behind him. Isis sat quietly in her carrier all the way to the elevator, down to the lobby, in the car, and on the drive home. One questioning meow as Alfred met him at the door, then nothing else while his old friend selected a guest bedroom and set up the litter box. Once they were alone again, she meowed as if to ask, _Is it safe?_

“It’s safe,” he assured her in Batman’s voice as he unzipped the case, and she flowed out to explore.

The investigation she ran of the room was surprisingly methodical, and she unmistakably nosed at each of her toys as if checking them off a list. When she got to the water bowl, which hadn’t been filled, she looked at him and meowed accusingly.

“You’re right,” he said, accepting the blame with good humor, because who can be angry about being chided by a cat? “I’ll take care of it now.”

The guest room had its own bathroom, and he filled the dish at the sink. Isis twined around his ankles, then paced to an open section of the wall and sat as if telling him where to put the bowl. Smiling, he obeyed. She sniffed the water, lapped a few times, and then rubbed against his legs again, purring.

He picked her up and settled her on one arm, petting with the other while she rubbed her head against his cheeks and chin. It was getting late; he didn’t _quite_ need to nap before Bruce Wayne’s social obligations, but he’d need to eat and then rest if he was going out again afterwards – which he was. There was a semiformal event on the calendar for tonight, the sort of thing where he’d normally come home with lipstick and perfume clinging to his skin, but something twisted in his gut at the idea of maintaining that particular piece of his reputation. Perhaps…Selina wasn’t the only one who could send a message before her court date.

“There’s going to be some very disappointed ladies tonight,” he told Isis as he strolled down the hall to the master bedroom. “But better to start now and break it to them gently, hmm? Besides – I wouldn’t want you getting the wrong idea about me. I can explain my charades to your mistress; it’s harder to acquit myself to a cat.”

Isis just purred.


	6. The eighth time, Lois was there

The eighth time, Lois was there.

It was amazing, Clark thought, how much time Bruce could spend in Metropolis without managing to say hello to either him or Lois. The last three weeks had been dizzying, with rumors and sightings flying around – Bruce Wayne had gone to this shop, that store, he’d bought a laundry list of assorted furnishings, he’d ordered expensive electronics. Contractors and decorators swarmed up and down the private elevator, putting finishing touches on the penthouse that had the city buzzing with curiosity and Lex Luthor gritting his teeth…but no one had managed to get the story out of Gotham’s hottest bachelor. The nights hadn’t exactly been quiet, either. Superman had heard the Batwing zipping in and out, sometimes hauling equipment and sometimes not, but he’d contented himself with watching from a distance. Bruce was burning his candle at both ends, without a doubt, and it was worrying…but short of chasing him down and sedating him, Clark didn’t see what he could do.

Then, suddenly, Bruce was joking and laughing with Jimmy but there was something…off. When he glanced at Lois, she was already giving him a piercing look, wordlessly demanding an explanation he didn’t have. Jimmy pointed at Perry’s office, and Bruce vanished inside. Moments later he came out again and strode, beaming, over to them.

“Sorry I haven’t been by before now,” he said sheepishly. “I’ve been busy. If the two of you _aren’t_ busy, I thought maybe you’d like to take the rest of the afternoon off and thumb-wrestle for the by-line.”

“Of what?” Lois asked suspiciously, and no wonder – there was a distinct aroma of alcohol around Bruce.

Alcohol. _He pretends to be drunk when he’s fatigued,_ Clark remembered, suddenly feeling cold.

He smiled brightly, leaning on her desk. Posing, or hiding that he was swaying slightly? “My penthouse is finally ready, and I haven’t said a _word_ to anyone not working on it for me, so I _know_ there’s a story just ready to be scooped. Come on,” he wheedled, “don’t try to tell me you’re not curious. Grand tour and dinner on me for both of you. What do you say?”

Lois looked uncertain, but this was a set-up. This was the mask, and Bruce was trying to give them a cue. Clark stood up. “I say dibs on the-”

“Not so fast, Smallville!” Lois shot to her feet. “You’re not getting the by-line that easily! Let’s go.”

Without another word she grabbed Bruce’s arm and towed him after her as she glared a path to the elevator. He grinned at Clark over his shoulder as if to say, _What are you going to do?_

Sighing dramatically, Clark followed them.

It was a relief to see a taxi idling out front. It didn’t matter that Bruce wasn’t inebriated; impairment due to fatigue was still impairment. Lois practically shoved Bruce into the back seat and climbed in behind him, leaving Clark to squeeze in and pull the door shut. The taxi driver had already been given orders, apparently, because he pulled out into traffic and started weaving his way across the city.

Lois crossed her arms, nearly elbowing them both in the ribs. “You’re drunk,” she accused Bruce, giving him a hard look.

“No I’m not,” he protested, “I’m just a little…”

“A little _drunk_ ,” she snapped. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Hey, I’ve been busy.” Bruce contrived to look hurt, and did very well at it to judge by the way the anger drained out of Lois’s posture. “You can’t blame a guy for needing to relax after a hard week, can you?”

“Fine,” she huffed, “but I want some of what you’ve been having.”

That too-bright playboy laughter filled the cab. “No,” he chuckled, “you don’t.”

The cabbie was generously overpaid when they got to the building, the doorman – the building actually _had a doorman_ – got the door for them, and the receptionist in the lobby chirped out a “Good afternoon, Mr. Wayne!” as Bruce led them somewhat unsteadily to the very elegant private elevator which had no button, no key slot, no…

Bruce laid his hand on a smooth, dark section of paneling; the door opened.

The inside was just as elegant as the outside, and big enough to hold a dozen. Clark obeyed Bruce’s beckoning gesture, and watched him as Lois oohed and aahed over the interior. The door closed, but the elevator didn’t budge until Bruce moved to where controls would be and simply stared at another blank panel, which emitted – of course, it was a retinal scanner. Clark gave a quiet whistle as the elevator rose smoothly. When it stopped, the doors opened onto what looked like a small sitting room or parlor. There was one door, to the right, but no visible knob or handle. Warily, they followed as Bruce left the elevator and stopped in center of the parlor.

“Computer,” he said in a more normal tone, “register new voiceprint: access level two, Lois Lane.”

“Ready,” responded a smooth mechanical voice.

Bruce grinned and gestured at Lois.

“Lois Lane?”

“Please repeat for accuracy,” announced the computer.

This time, she shook herself out and said boldly, “Lois Lane.”

“Voiceprint registered. Welcome, Lois Lane.”

“Computer, register new voiceprint: access level two, Clark Kent.”

Clark shook his head, forcing his concern aside enough to grin at the impressed look Lois was giving Bruce, and the billionaire’s smug expression. “Clark Kent.”

“Please repeat for accuracy.”

“Clark Kent.”

“Voiceprint registered. Welcome, Clark Kent.”

“Very fancy,” Lois said dryly, “but how do we get in?”

Bruce put on a look of blatantly false innocence. “You could try the door.”

Uncertainly, Lois approached the door – which slid open before she reached it. The computer’s voice repeated its greeting.

“Biometric scanners,” Bruce announced as she stood, gaping, in the doorway. “Shall we?”

“Welcome, Mr. Wayne,” announced the computer as he passed into the penthouse with Clark following. “Welcome, Clark Kent.”

The door slid shut behind them, and all the false cheer dropped off of Bruce like he’d shed a coat. “Computer,” he said in Batman’s voice, “register new voiceprint: Emergency code blue.”

Lois looked at him curiously, but Clark knew what to do. “Emergency code blue,” he said grimly, and then repeated it.

“Okay, what was that for?” Lois demanded, hands on her hips, glaring at them both.

“Level two will get you into the penthouse at any hour, with or without me,” Bruce said as he shed his jacket and shoes, “but it won’t get you into the master bedroom or into the parts of the penthouse that can only be accessed from there. If there’s an emergency, I’d rather Superman be able to get in _without_ making his own door.”

She nodded, then looked at Clark. “You’ve been pretty quiet, Smallville.”

“He’s worried about me,” Bruce said before Clark could do more than open his mouth. “I’ve been pushing myself pretty hard to get everything set up before Selina’s case goes before a judge.”

“Which it does tomorrow, if I’m not mistaken,” Clark said quietly.

“You’re not. So if the two of you will forgive me being a lousy host…? Feel free to explore the place for the next hour and a half and make yourselves at home while I get a bit of rest before I fall over right here.”

Lois stared at him. “You’re not drunk, you’re exhausted.”

He gave her a tight, bitter smile. “I _said_ you didn’t want any of what I’ve been having. Had you fooled, didn’t I? I’ve got a lot of practice at this. It makes a _great_ explanation for not living up to certain female expectations, and also excuses me until about noon the next day.”

“Is an hour and a half going to be enough?” Clark asked in that same quiet tone.

“As long as you two don’t want to eat out. The hearing’s not until the afternoon; I’ll be able to catch up before then.”

“Are you-” Lois broke off, startled by the firm hand Clark placed on her shoulder. Bruce was hunched over slightly, face tight – all the unhappy body language he normally displayed while wearing the cowl.

“We’ll be fine,” he said firmly. “Go take a nap.”

Bruce looked somehow unconvinced. After a long, tense moment, Clark realized he _wanted_ , but wasn’t letting himself have – and remembered how much of a struggle it had been for the other man to display affection _without_ being under considerable stress and having another set of eyes watching. Slowly, he stepped forward to embrace Bruce, unsurprised when it was returned with enough desperate urgency that he could feel Bruce’s arms tremble.

“Do I need to tuck you in?” he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to one temple.

“Brat,” came the subvocalized response. “I’ll be fine. Thank you.”

Clark stepped back and watched in silence as Bruce vanished through a doorway – then watched through the reinforced but not lead-lined walls as he made his way to the master bedroom and collapsed into an overstuffed chair rather than onto the bed.

“Well,” Lois said when the change in Clark’s posture announced that their host had made it to his room, “are we going to thumb-wrestle for the by-line?”

“Nope, it’s all yours.” He grinned at her expression. “I’m going to be moving in and having theoretical gay sex, remember?”

She hadn’t remembered; either that, or she’d discarded the entire idea after the disappointment that was their continued heterosexuality. Her surprise faded quickly into anticipation. “In that case,” she said in a low, throaty voice, “let’s take a look around so you can pick out which bedroom will be yours.”

The insinuation would have made him blush if his blood weren’t going somewhere else. “Oh, really?”

Lois went on tiptoe to nibble on his ear. “Maybe I’ll let you share the by-line,” she whispered. “ _If_ you put that tongue of yours to good use before Bruce wakes up.”

“That one,” he said immediately, pointing to the room furthest from where their host was sleeping.

To his relief, the room was completely furnished – _with_ a king-sized bed. Clark scooped Lois into his arms and carried her over to it, part of him regretting that they hadn’t had time to do those velocity and impact measurements even as another part chided him for thinking so selfishly while Bruce had so much on his plate already.

“No hands this time,” he said firmly as he laid her on the bed.

“Oh, don’t worry – I’ll let you do all the work.”

She sounded far too pleased at that idea, he thought as she kicked her shoes off. Then she grabbed his lapels and hauled him down for a kiss, and he stopped thinking for a while.

 

* * *

 

 

Ninety minutes after he’d gone into his room, Bruce awoke with a start, his pounding pulse sounding like a jackhammer to super-hearing. Lois looked up from her notes as Clark called out to their host, and moments later he strolled in to join them, looking worn out but not ready to fall over. They’d explored every inch their access levels would let them into and settled into some _very_ comfortable leather chairs clustered in the back corner of what looked like a small home theater combined with an office, half-writing the story of the Wayne penthouse. Clark stood up and met Bruce halfway across the room for a hug.

“Hour and a half on the dot,” Lois said, impressed. “How do you _do_ that?”

“He’s Batman,” Clark answered while Bruce laughed into his shoulder. “That’s how.”

“That’s not an answer, Clark.”

He grinned. “Hey, it’s as much answer as I ever got.”

“She’s right.” Bruce straightened, not quite smiling but amused all the same. “It’s _not_ an answer, it’s shorthand. Are either of you hungry yet? I’m in the mood for Chinese.”

Lois came up to stand beside them, arms crossed. “No, but don’t let that stop you. Order me some moo goo gai pan.”

Bruce looked expectantly at him.

“Uh…cashew chicken, I guess.”

“Let me place the order, and while we wait I’ll expand on that shorthand.”

Clark looked at Lois as Bruce left the room. “Either he’s feeling guilty about having kept you out of the loop,” he said quietly, “or he’s practicing for telling Selina.”

She _hmphed_. “I hope it’s door number two. Not that I don’t want him to open up for me, but I’d rather he opened up for _her_. I’ve got the benefit of having dealt with you, but she’s a mystery.” Lois shook her head. “We’ll have to wait and see. In the meantime, where do you think we’re going to eat?”

“Not in here,” Clark answered, looking around the room. “Not unless we’re going to be watching a movie.” He gave her a small smile. “It’s still weird, seeing him eat. I’m used to him being Batman and denying just about every basic human need except breathing.” He paused for a moment, remembering a few incidents. “… _including_ breathing.”

“Yeah, well I’m _not_ used to him being Batman. He carries his secrets scarily well. Dining room?”

“I don’t think so,” Clark said slowly. “It’s too grand, too formal, too Bruce Wayne: Rich Playboy. I think it’ll be the…can you still call it a living room? It’s too open to be a den.”

“Grand room, I think,” Lois offered. “Couch or chairs?”

Clark peered through the wall. “He’s off the phone. Drag him to the couch, quick.”

Although she shot him a sharp look, she didn’t waste time questioning him. Bruce came back into the room, and Lois practically bowled him over shoving him out again. “How long until the food gets here?”

“Twenty minutes, give or take for traffic?” He let himself be herded while Clark followed, grinning.

“Good.” Lois dragged him to the long, cream-colored couch and sat, pulling him down with her. “Then you’ll have plenty of time to explain that shorthand.”

He looked like he wanted to protest, but Clark sat down on his other side. Trapped between the two of them, he gritted his teeth and turned to face Lois – giving the Kryptonian a perfect opening to pull him back against his chest. “I was very young when I lost my parents,” he began, relaxing somewhat reluctantly against Clark. “Something changed inside me that night. I can’t describe it. When the police couldn’t find the man who had taken them from me, I…” Bruce shook his head slowly. “That’s when Batman was born – even though I wouldn’t take that name for years. From then on, I devoted almost every second of my life to learning everything I’d need in order to become what I am now.”

Lois eyed the two of them and then, suddenly, turned and half-threw herself against Bruce’s chest. “I get the feeling you’re talking about more than martial arts,” she said as she snuggled into his reflexive embrace.

“Martial arts. Acrobatics. I trained for a few months under Zatara. Psychology, biology, criminology, computers and technology. Meditation and ways of thinking, breath control…I learned how to hone my body into a deadly weapon, and how to forge my mind into a more dangerous one. Needing to sleep eight hours in one uninterrupted stretch is incompatible with my schedule, and I haven’t done it with any regularity since I was about ten. Of course,” he added dryly, “the initial reason had less to do with discipline and more to do with the nightmares, but after everything I’ve put myself through, the ability to fall instantly asleep for a predetermined period of time is a parlor trick.”

“The shorthand makes sense, now,” she said calmly. “You’re Batman. It would take far too long to go into detail about how or why you can do something, even if you were inclined to brag – which you’re not – so you summarize. Thank you, Bruce.”

Clark felt the minute jerk of surprise in Bruce’s muscles before he relaxed again. “You’re welcome.”

They sat like that for several minutes, getting comfortable, before a discreet chime sounded from nowhere and everywhere. “Front desk,” announced the computer’s smooth tone.

“Answer.”

_“Mr. Wayne, there’s a fellow here who says he’s to deliver some food…?”_

“I’ll be right down,” Bruce responded cheerfully in his playboy voice. A second chime sounded, and carefully he slid out from between the other two and stood up. “Be right back,” he told them, slipping his feet into his discarded shoes. “How disreputable do I look?”

“All you’re missing is lipstick,” Lois answered, amused.

Bruce chuckled and left the room.

“Lack of physical contact?” Lois asked without preamble as soon as the door was shut.

“You got it.”

“And with his issues…”

“…he practically has to be forced into it, even when he’s desperate for some,” Clark finished grimly. After a moment, though, he grinned. “He did say Selina kissed him. I don’t think we have to worry about him getting physical contact from that end.”

She looked like she had the scent of a story, and was ready to hunt it down. “Really? You didn’t mention that. As Bruce Wayne…?”

“Nope. As Batman.”

Lois leaned back, eyebrows raised in surprised approval. “I think I like her already.” A few breaths later, she laughed. “Not that what we think of her will in any way sway him, but things will be less stressful for everyone if we all get along. Are you really going to take that back bedroom?”

The change of subject didn’t even faze him for a second. He wondered what that said about their relationship – such as it was. “I think so. You didn’t like it?”

“The window faces east, you’ll get the sun in your eyes the second it rises.”

“Farm boy,” he reminded her, smiling. “I happen to _like_ being woken by the sun.”

The smile she gave him in return was unrepentantly wicked. “I can think of better ways to wake up.”

Well, if that wasn’t very enticing bait… “Oh, really?” Clark put on his best oblivious face. “Like what?”

The answer he got, as expected, was not in words. Despite that lack, it was gratifyingly eloquent. He presented a counter-argument; she invited him to elaborate, and he was more than happy to do so. The discussion went on for quite some time, and he was too distracted to listen for Bruce’s return. It was the unique aroma of Chinese take-out that alerted him, and his distraction alerted Lois. With the mood broken, they opened their eyes and stared at each other for a long minute, each almost painfully aware that she was straddling him, what that proximity had done to his manhood, and that in all probability Bruce had snuck in Batman-silent and watched them carry on like high school students. Actually, contemplating that last point was helping the second one.

“There’s no graceful way out of this, is there?” she said in an undertone.

“Not that I can think of, no.” Now that he wasn’t distracted, he could hear Bruce in one of the chairs, eating something that crunched.

“Three minutes, twenty-seven seconds,” a too-cheerful voice announced.

Throwing dignity to the wind with a graceful shrug, Lois turned around. “What?”

Bruce grinned at them. “That’s how long I’ve been here.” He held out a wax-paper bag. “Crab Rangoon?”

“You’re not…” she stared at him, absently taking one. “We were just…it doesn’t bother you that…”

“Not as long as you don’t put holes in my walls.”

Clark blushed and lifted Lois off his lap. “We didn’t.” The look on Bruce’s face made him realize what he’d admitted by omission, and he hid behind his hands while the other man laughed.

“It’s okay,” Bruce chuckled. “Why do you think I invited both of you? At the same time, I mean.”

“I’m going to take pity on Smallville and not answer that,” Lois declared loftily. Cautiously, Clark let his hands drop. “So, when’s he moving in?”

Bruce crumpled up the empty bag and started on a container of lo mein. “When do you think he _should_ move in?”

Both of them looked at him, and he held his hands up as though disavowing all involvement. “I’ll go with whatever you two decide.”

“Not right away,” Lois said decisively. “You’re going to have him manage the place for you, right? He’ll be in here…what, three times a week? A few weeks of that, maybe a scheduled ‘emergency’ or two, and the next time you’re in town he can suggest that with his busy reporter schedule, it might be better if he just lives here. What were you going to pay him to maintain the penthouse?”

He named a figure that was half of what Clark paid in rent for his current apartment.

“So after a month of _managing_ , Clark can suggest that he move in and pay reduced rent, and the rumors will start to circulate. Sound good?”

“Works for me,” Bruce said. “Clark?”

“What if you actually need something that first month?” he asked in a quiet voice.

“Then I’ll call,” the other man promised solemnly. “Your phone, if it’s reasonable to do so. If not… Computer, test command: call Superman.”

Somewhere, a device emitted a series of ultrasonic beeps that spelled H-E-L-P in Morse code. The frequency was something usually unoccupied, meaning there wouldn’t be much to interfere with the signal. Eyebrows raised, although he really should have expected Batman to come up with something this clever, he nodded. “That will work just fine. I take it the signal will repeat until your system detects me entering?”

Mouth full, Bruce nodded.

That begged another question, actually. “Uh…how _should_ I enter?”

Disposable chopsticks pointed at the door to the _very_ generous balcony outside the grand room, then up to the skylight, then scrabbled in the lo mein container as Bruce swallowed. “Take your pick. If you choose the smaller bedroom, you can use the balcony door there, too. They’ll all open at your signature approaching from outside, which will also disable the security system.”

“Alright,” Clark said, nodding. “One month, and then we’ll ‘discuss’ me moving in. When the rumors reach a point that you or Selina aren’t comfortable with, would you mind hosting a ‘confrontation’ with Superman?”

Bruce set the empty lo mein container on the coffee table and opened another carton before handing it to Lois along with a plastic fork. “What kind of confrontation?” he asked warily. A second carton was opened, a fork stuck in it, and offered to Clark. The third container released a cloud of tangy steam when opened and he sat expectantly back in his chair with it.

“The kind where he finds out Lois has been seeing Clark Kent secretly, takes his rejection like a gentleman, and promises that while he still cares and will still protect her, he’ll also respect her choice and hopes she and Clark will be happy together.” Lois stared at him, fork halfway to her mouth, and he frowned. “I told you: I want it to be without the cape.”

“Oh, I’m not objecting,” she said hurriedly, sticking her forkful back into the carton. “I’m just imagining the look on Lex’s face when he reads that headline.”

Bruce waited until he’d caught Clark’s gaze before saying quietly, “If that’s what you want, then that’s what we’ll do.”

“It is,” Clark said firmly. “Thank you.”

For several minutes they sat and ate in silence, Clark waving Bruce over to sit between them on the couch, Lois quietly impressed by the volume of food he was putting away. He relaxed more slowly than usual – Clark guessed it was Lois’s presence – but he did relax and when he finally cracked open a fortune cookie, he was sandwiched comfortably between them again.

“You will be invited to an exciting event,” he announced, underwhelmed by the prediction of something that likely happened several times a month.

Lois interjected, “In bed.”

Clark choked.

“What?” She turned her head to grin at him. “Don’t you play the fortune cookie game? You add ‘in bed’ to the end of your fortune. Here…” Leaning over, she grabbed one from the table and popped the wrapper open. The cookie cracked neatly in half, and she absently fed each piece to Bruce while extracting the slip of paper. “Fame and fortune will soon be yours…in bed.”

“The bed’s big enough for that,” Bruce said mildly, “but I don’t think you want to get your suit wrinkled, and we’re not doing anything but sleeping until I’ve had a chance to discuss it with Selina.” Without even looking, he laughed at Clark’s expression.

“He’s fortune,” Lois grinned, “and you’re fame.”

“You’re enjoying this too much,” he said sulkily.

Bruce was also enjoying this too much. “Grab one for him.”

“Generosity will repay itself sooner than you imagine. In bed. Nope!” The paper fluttered to the floor as she sat up to glare accusingly at him. “Nope, nu-uh, no way, not until I’m not in danger of getting my head blown off – and I’m not swallowing.”

Embarrassment and shame warred for dominance with arousal, making his blood rush in his ears, but it still didn’t drown out Bruce laughing until he was gasping for air and blind from tears of mirth. Lois had scrabbled away until she was nearly sitting on the arm of the couch, as far from him as she could get without standing up.

“That will be my next project,” Bruce said in Batman’s voice as he wiped the tears from his eyes, still chuckling. “I promise. Although according to Clark’s fortune cookie, I’ll develop a solution pretty quickly. When we reach test phase, do you want to watch?”

Lois looked speculatively at him, and despite the embarrassment he couldn’t help but imagine her watching as he…provided impact and velocity measurements. “Don’t I get a say in this?” he asked plaintively.

“Were you going to say no?” she countered.

He flushed. “…no.”

“I want to watch,” she told Bruce. “I’d like to see what I’m getting into – or what’s potentially getting into me.”

If he didn’t have both arms around the other man, he’d be covering his face. As it was, he settled for burying it in Bruce’s hair.

“I can still see your blush,” she said unhelpfully. “Your ears are red.”

Bruce laughed again. “Maybe we should have pity on him and change the subject.”

“I guess. To what?”

He could feel the sudden tension in Bruce’s body before he said, “Tomorrow.”

“Afraid of Selina’s reaction?” Clark asked quietly.

“Afraid the judge will reject the plea bargain.”

That…would be very bad. “What will you do if she doesn’t get probation?”

Bruce laughed again, but it was dark and bitter. “Most likely? Cry, rage, take it out on Gotham’s scum, and call you. Maybe not in that order.”

The matter-of-fact way he said it alarmed Lois. “Bruce…”

“Why do you think I’ve been pushing myself so hard?” he snapped. “If I’m too busy to sleep, I’m too busy to conjure up worst-case scenarios.”

Clark’s arms tightened reassuringly around him. “Are you going to be there for it?”

“No. I don’t trust myself to be able to keep the mask in place if…”

“Then how will you know the verdict?”

More dark laughter. “I have the room bugged.”

Not a surprise to him, but Lois still looked a little wild around the eyes. Clark forced himself to stay calm, knowing that she’d be taking her cues from him. “So you’ll be…waiting in a car outside?”

Bruce nodded. “We didn’t have a chance to discuss it, but she knows who I am. I don’t think she’ll turn down a ride when she gets out.” He paused, then said dryly, “Besides – I have her cat.”

Lois blinked and met Clark’s eyes in confusion, certain she hadn’t heard that right, but he was just as puzzled. “You have her…” She let the question trail off, inviting correction.

“Cat. Isis, a registered Cornish Rex.” This apparently made perfect sense to Lois, who nodded. He was relaxing again, to Clark’s relief. “She asked me to take care of Isis for her. I figure if nothing else, I can get her alone on the pretext of reuniting her with her baby.”

“Bruce…” This time, it was Clark chiding him.

“Worst-case scenario,” he retorted sharply.

Lois crept back down the couch until she could cuddle up to him again. “Then what’s the best case?”

Silence stretched. “I…haven’t let myself think about that.”

“Why am I not surprised,” she sighed. “You’re hopeless, Bruce. I adore you, but you’re hopeless.”

“No,” Bruce said quietly, pulling her back into his arms. “As long as I haven’t driven the two of you away, there’s still hope.”

Clark kissed his hair and teased, “Good luck there. You’d have to duct-tape kryptonite to my forehead, handcuff me, and lock me in the basement.”

“Which would give me time to sober up, since apparently I thought of that plan while under the influence of _something_.” He paused as if an idea had just occurred to him. “I think…the mold would have to…maybe do it in two parts?”

He wanted to ask what Bruce was talking about, but Lois beat him to it. “You’re babbling, Bruce. Care to elaborate?”

“The fortune cookie was right. Kryptonite cock ring,” he announced, as if this made _perfect_ sense and wasn’t something that was setting Clark’s face on fire.

Lois made a thoughtful sound, which _didn’t help anything_. “What’s the second part?”

“Impregnated with lead dust, for your protection.”

She thought about that for a long minute. “I want to see the test results first, but it sounds promising. Clark? What do you think? You’re the one who’s going to be wearing it.”

He made incoherent noises into Bruce’s hair, only partially mollified by the rare laughter he so treasured.

“I’m sorry,” Bruce said warmly, tilting his head back and turning until he could apologize with a brief kiss. “I shouldn’t give you such a hard time.”

Not one to discourage this show of affection, particularly with a witness, Clark demonstrated his acceptance of the apology with another kiss. “I’d rather you be entertained at my expense than tying yourself into knots,” he said firmly.

Lois twisted around to watch them, eyes sparkling. “Kiss him again!”

He expected that knowing smile, that instant of warning before war was declared on his lips, but that’s not what he got. What he got was Bruce looking at him, wary and entreating, silently asking with his eyes if he minded. The reminder that this was an issue of control for Bruce, that he’d gotten so far inside Batman’s defenses that the normally unflappable Dark Knight didn’t know what to do for once, shook him.

Slowly, he lowered his head until their lips brushed. Bruce shifted slightly, raising his chin for better contact, his motions still hesitant.

_I don’t want to intrude._

Memory sparked realization sparked anger. He didn’t want to intrude, didn’t want to get between him and Lois, like somehow Clark ‘you care about _everyone’_ Kent didn’t have room in his heart for two people. _I want this_ , he’d whispered, and Bruce had said, _You’ve got it. For as long as you want it, you’ve got it._ What was it going to take for him to realize how much he meant to Clark?

All the frustration, all the worry and the care and yes, the hero-worship that had faded into respect that went beyond his ability to elucidate – all of it came boiling out and translated into motion. He could feel Bruce go slack for a moment under the onslaught and took the opportunity to deepen the kiss. Then, just as urgently, he found it returned.

_I need help. I want help. Don’t let me convince you otherwise._

Clark almost laughed; it would have been a dark chuckle he didn’t think Batman would have expected from him. _Fat chance of you driving me away,_ he said without words, whispering without sound, all his concentration on making the man in his arms understand that no matter what happened with Lois or Selina or anyone else, _he wanted this._

This time, when the kiss ended, it was Bruce who looked stunned. He opened his eyes cautiously, searching Clark’s face for confirmation, not letting himself believe that Superman could care about one broken man so deeply. Clark wasn’t sure what expression he was wearing, but he nodded once, minutely, in answer to that unasked question.

“You _do_ care,” he murmured in quiet awe. Then, suddenly, he laughed. It wasn’t exactly happy, nor was it bitter; it was somehow resigned without being resentful, like some cosmic joke had been played on him and the punchline was a lesson he thought he’d learned only to discover that he hadn’t.

“I get the feeling I’m missing something,” Lois drawled, tangled in Bruce’s legs and leaning sardonically against the back of the couch.

Clark raised one eyebrow, not sure whether he was amused or self-conscious about what had just happened. “You’re not the only one. Maybe our host will explain once he’s able to speak again.”

“I…Selina said that to me, right before I cuffed her,” he chuckled. “She trusted me enough to suffer through two months in jail without complaint on the strength of knowing that I cared about her. Now I know what that’s like, and I…” He shook his head, still smiling to himself. “Thank you. I may need reminding, but you’ve made your point and I’ll try not to convince myself that I imagined it.”

“Feel like you deserve it yet?” Clark asked, keeping the words light but not teasing.

“Realizing that whether I do or not, you’re not going away and fighting it will only hurt both of us.”

He didn’t need to say _I don’t want to hurt you_ ; Clark heard it anyway. “And how are you feeling about tomorrow?”

Bruce closed his eyes, Lois watching them both in silent fascination. “If the judge doesn’t go with the plea bargain, my lawyer and Selina’s will jump on the Red Claw angle. I’ll come back here to leak the details; Lois, you’ll get the story. She’s _not_ staying in jail.”

“Good,” Clark soothed.

“I’m still going to spend half the night taking it out on Gotham’s scum before coming back. Not a word, Kent. That’s the worst-case scenario, and it’s unlikely to happen. Acting D.A. Van Dorn is well aware of the situation, including the psychological stress it’s placing on Selina, and she has no desire to contribute to it. We had a long talk,” he added dryly, opening his eyes to gauge Lois’s startled reaction. “She doesn’t like Batman, but after hearing my assessment of her predecessor – among others – she trusts my judgment. Apparently, we think alike when it comes to rehabilitation versus punishment.”

“Rehabilitation?” Lois asked, frowning.

Instantly, Bruce’s expression shuttered until there was nothing but Batman, and he was very angry. “Someone hurt her,” he growled. “I don’t know who, or when, or how, but women with healthy psychological profiles don’t put on feline-themed catsuits and scream like terrified mothers when their cats are in danger.”

Wide violet eyes met his, and he shook his head slightly. He didn’t know, and he wasn’t about to ask. “Got it,” she said, voice high and tight. “Rehabilitation.”

Time to change the subject again, Clark thought. “So when are you going back to Gotham?”

Bruce relaxed slightly, recognizing the question for what it was. “Not until late tomorrow morning; I’ve been seen impaired in public, which requires me sleeping here tonight and not stirring until closer to noon.” He took a deep breath. “I won’t ask either of you to stay with me, not as you are. But the invitation is open, if you want to take a taxi and return with overnight bags. And if not…” The shoulders pressed against Clark’s chest tensed. “…then I…”

He didn’t get a chance to finish before Lois interrupted eagerly with, “Will I get to see and or sleep in The Master Bedroom?” At Bruce’s cautious nod, she grinned with unholy glee. “I don’t care that nothing will happen; I am _not_ turning down the chance to say I slept with Bruce Wayne. Even though I won’t actually be saying it to anyone. You’re paying for the cab,” she added as she detangled herself and went searching for her shoes. “Smallville, you coming?”

“I…”

“You’re coming,” she informed him, making Bruce laugh. “The story demands it.”

Still laughing, Bruce sat up. “Computer, call a taxi for Lois Lane, expense account three.” He offered Clark a hand up while the system chirped acknowledgment. “I’m too rested to pass for how drunk Bruce Wayne supposedly is, but I’ll get you two registered with the elevator. If I hadn’t _really_ needed that nap, it would have been done along with the voiceprints.”

Clark pulled him into a brief, tight hug, silently reassuring him that they didn’t think any less of him for being human. Lois watched, mentally taking notes on their interaction. Once shoes and accoutrements had been assembled, Bruce led them out to the parlor and pointed to the smooth, dark panels on either side of the elevator door.

“Hand scanners. If either of you missed it, I wasn’t thinking clearly enough to notice. Computer, register handprints for Lois Lane.”

“Ready,” announced the disembodied digital voice. Lois placed her right hand against one panel. A moment later the voice said, “Right hand registered; please present left hand.” She complied, and a chime sounded. “Handprints registered for Lois Lane.”

“The retinal scan is only needed if someone unregistered is in the elevator,” Bruce explained. “Up to you if you want it.”

Lois shook her head. “Nope. I don’t want anyone to be able to gain entry through me. If you need paramedics or something, Superman will already be on top of that.”

“I’ll take it,” Clark said quietly. “I’d rather not have to use my ace if I don’t have to.”

“Computer, register handprints for Clark Kent.”

Obediently, he pressed his palms to the panel one after the other.

“Computer, register retinal scans for Clark Kent.”

The elevator door opened. Guessing what would be expected, Clark stepped inside and stared at the dark panel. Sure enough… “Retinal scan registered,” announced the computer a few seconds later.

Lois peered into the elevator. “How does it work, Bruce?”

“It only stops at two floors,” he said with amusement. “Once a registered handprint is recognized as allowing entry, the doors will open and you just have to step inside. The elevator will take you to whichever floor you’re not on. If the penthouse door doesn’t open automatically for you, just state your name.”

Before he could react, she stepped in to kiss him on the cheek. “We’ll be back soon,” she murmured.

“I’ll be here,” he joked, but Clark could see the worry still riding behind his eyes.

 

* * *

 

 

“Wow,” Lois said, and Clark had to agree. There really weren’t any other words for it – not until the initial amazement had worn off.

The master bedroom was almost embarrassingly large, even by the overly-generous standards of Metropolis. The bed itself was easily as big as the one in Wayne Manor, begging the question of where Bruce had even gotten it, and seemed to have entire wardrobes built into either side of its enormous, stately headboard. The whole thing was perched on a low, two-step dais set against the center of the wall opposite the door, ensuring that it would be the first thing anyone saw upon entering. To the left, an entire other room seemed to have been built into the corner, but a glimpse past the half-open sliding door revealed that it was a walk-in closet, complete with three-way fitting mirror. A set of bookshelf-stairs marched up the side to a reading area set up on top of it, with an actual red upholstered fainting couch along the long wall and a curving floor lamp to provide soft illumination even if the rest of the room was dark. He wouldn’t be surprised if there was an oriental carpet up there, too. In the other corner, a pair of love seats and three high-backed chairs clustered around a glass-and-chrome table while one of the biggest flat screen TVs he’d ever seen in person hung on the wall, trying and failing to be discreet. The center of the left wall sported French doors that opened onto a home gym that nearly anyone else would brush off as something Bruce Wayne would never _actually_ use – but Clark knew better. No doubt his Batcave-away-from-Batcave was back there somewhere.

In the far right corner, an angled wall held another pair of French doors that had been thrown open and through them he could see a hot tub that would probably seat at least eight, half-submerged into the floor. Past it, the entire corner opened up onto a view of… Clark frowned. That wasn’t the Metropolis skyline. A quick sweep with his x-ray vision confirmed that the corner _was_ windowed, but he was seeing a printed shot of what was probably Gotham at night, suspended on reinforced panels that could be retracted into the wall. The high-tech shower he fully expected from Bruce Wayne was tucked into the right corner past the French doors along with the vanity; the toilet and its more modest sink were on the left. A pair of curtained changing rooms formed the second set of walls separating the hot tub from the rest of the bathroom. What was left of the right wall was a short corridor that opened into a small, dim, intimate sitting room containing only a single half-circle couch that looked like the big brother of the leather chairs clustered in the office-slash-theater. The rest of the east-facing window opened up onto another printed Gotham skyline on retractable panels, and stylized tree sculptures in the corners sported red, blue, yellow, and white LED flowers. He suspected they could be turned on and off by color to allow a variety of mood lighting; there was no other source of light there aside from the window.

“Wow,” Lois said again, peering into every corner. “I can tell Lex didn’t design this room; there’s at least five different places in here where you could have sex.” While Bruce laughed and Clark tried not to choke, she grinned and continued, “Not that you’re going to, I’m sure, but let a girl have her fantasies, okay?”

“I think that says more about Lex Luthor than the fact that he keeps a _shark tank_ in his office,” Bruce joked, looking a lot more comfortable at Lois’s acceptance. “This isn’t _me_ , of course…”

“Of course not. It’s Bruce Wayne, rich playboy.” She waved the issue away and took a few steps towards the bathroom. “Wish I’d brought my suit; I’d love to get a crack at that hot tub.”

“Guest bikinis in the right-hand changing room,” he announced cheerfully. “Guest trunks in the left,” he added, grinning at Clark. “I need to sleep, but the two of you are welcome to test it out. I can vouch that it’s worth trying.”

Clark shook his head as she made a small sound of glee and darted for the bathroom. “I really shouldn’t be surprised anymore, but somehow you still manage it.”

“I keep telling you, you don’t _think_.”

“I think,” he protested.

The look Bruce was giving him begged to differ. “After the fact. You don’t think ahead, you _react_. There’s a difference.”

He thought about that for a moment, ignoring the hurt irritation this argument always brought with it in favor of trying to put his feelings into words. “You’re right; I don’t think ahead. But if I did, if I had plans and contingency plans and counter-plans the way you do, _on top_ of everything else Superman has, I’d scare people. I don’t want them to falsely think I’m omniscient as well as omnipotent. I’d rather trust _you_ to be the tactician and let the people trust _me_.”

Bruce grunted, conceding the point before he growled, “That doesn’t mean you couldn’t stand to learn some fighting tactics beyond _punch, punch harder,_ and _throw him into a building_.”

Batman was right, but that didn’t take any of the sting out. Clark gritted his teeth. “And I’ll learn these techniques from who, again? I don’t want to risk not pulling a punch and sending someone through a wall.”

“Have you asked Diana?” No hesitation at all. Of _course_ he’d thought about it. He was Batman, he thought of _everything_.

“Who’s Diana?”

Lois’s voice, her you-just-let-something-slip-and-I’m-going-to-press-it-until-you-regret-it voice, brought him back to the present. The present contained Lois Lane in a black bikini and nothing else. Clark’s mind ground to a halt. “Uh…”

“Wonder Woman,” Bruce said calmly. “I thought she might be able to teach Superman some moves to incapacitate an enemy without as much risk for incidental properly damage.”

“Oh. Good idea. Now, less frowning and more hot tub, and don’t give me that _I need to sleep_ bull because Selina won’t be seeing you through a laptop screen.”

While Clark tried to figure out what that meant, Bruce nodded grimly. “Okay. Half an hour, and then I do need to sleep,” he announced in a tone not meant to be questioned, and strode off towards the closet.

“What-” That was all he could get out before Lois grabbed his hand and started dragging him to the bathroom.

“His scars,” she said as if that should explain everything. And, to be honest, it did – but she didn’t stop there. “Once a week, he strips down in the Batcave and I get to take a good, long, appreciative look through encrypted video because he’s convinced they make him ugly or something. But when he shows them to Selina, it will be in the flesh.” She pushed him at the men’s changing room and drew the curtain behind him. “So I reminded him of that. He probably needs to relax anyway, but he also needs to be reassured that he’s not Frankenstein’s monster just because his skin isn’t as pristine as yours is.”

Clark stripped and found a pair of black trunks that fit. “Good call,” he said as he emerged and promptly blushed at the appraising way Lois was looking at him. “I, uh, wouldn’t have thought of that at all.”

“Bruce isn’t the only one who needs to get used to being ogled,” she purred.

“Just by you, or by other women as well?” he asked, trying to keep his eyes above her neck.

“Other women. I’m not above flaunting it if I’ve got it.” Lois took a step closer, hands on his chest. “They can look, but they can’t touch.”

Thankfully, Bruce stepped into the bathroom at that moment. It wasn’t the most unhappy Clark had ever seen him, but he was grim enough that Clark was hugging him almost before the intent to do so registered. It took a very long minute before the impression of holding a bronze statue wrapped in terrycloth faded, but Bruce still wasn’t anywhere near relaxed when he firmly disentangled himself. Lois watched, sternly expectant, arms crossed. Holding himself rigid, as though he were facing a firing squad instead of two concerned friends, he grimaced and let the bathrobe fall to the tile.

The scars were just as bad as Clark remembered. Worse, in a way, because there were no other injuries to detract from them. He found himself circling the other man slowly, taking inventory of every brush with death, face stiff with the horror he wasn’t showing. The sickening javelin wound that nearly crippled Bruce’s right arm had healed without so much as a faint line to prove it had ever been there; that made him feel cheated, somehow. When he glanced up from his inspection, Bruce was looking at him with the same closed expression he’d worn back then: fury, fear, anger, shame. It demanded a reaction, just as it had that time, but _this_ time Clark knew the walls were paper-mache. This time, when he hugged Bruce, there was no hesitation before the hostility was discarded.

“She’s not going to hate you,” he whispered as Bruce buried his face in Clark’s shoulder. “She’s not going to think you’re hideous. You’re a lion, Gotham is your territory, and every one of those scars is proof of everything she finds attractive about Batman.”

“Proof that here’s something wrong with me,” he countered. “Why else would I go out night after night, risking life and limb?”

“Because you want to help people. You saw people hurting and you wanted to help. Same reason I keep putting on the cape.”

Silence for a long minute; Lois padded away and slipped into the hot tub.

“She loves you,” Clark said gently. “She fell in love with Batman, knowing that his nature is to risk life and limb to catch people breaking the law. You said she’s hurt, right? You let me do this because you trust me; you can let yourself be vulnerable because you know I’ll protect you. She needs that, too, only _you’re_ the one she trusts. She needs _you,_ and you love her. You want her to be happy? What will make her happy is you.”

“She doesn’t know me,” Bruce growled, but it was a flimsy protest and they both knew it.

Clark pulled away and held him at arm’s length, waiting until the other man met his eyes before asking, “When she found out Bruce Wayne was Batman, what was her reaction?”

“Relief,” he admitted grudgingly.

“You see? She’s not going to care that you’ve got issues, she’s going to step up and want to help because she loves you so much that she wasn’t angry over that deception. Help her. Let her help you. And get in the hot tub because you need to relax and get a good night’s sleep.”

That made Bruce chuckle. “That’s not going to happen short of sedating myself, and don’t think I haven’t seriously considered it.” The amusement, such as it was, faded. “If you hadn’t agreed to stay the night, I would have resorted to that.”

“I would have stayed,” he said slowly. “Even without Lois. Even without you asking. If I had to sneak back in as Superman, I would have stayed. You need me, Bruce. I won’t turn my back on you like that.”

Some of the tension went out of Bruce’s posture. “You’re a good friend,” he sighed. “Thank you.”

Clark lifted Bruce’s chin gently and kissed him, slow and light and reassuring. “Into the hot tub,” he murmured, “before I pick you up and carry you.”

Laughing, Bruce obeyed.

 

* * *

 

 

A slow, rhythmic sound woke him, and he became aware that he was lying in a bed not his own, with Lois slumbering in his arms. _That_ happy distraction nearly lured him back to sleep, but the sound persisted. It was a dull clacking of some sort, almost like metal or rocks striking but not quite, and he focused his super-hearing on it. Controlled breaths and a heartbeat, and Bruce wasn’t in the bed with them.

He wondered what time it was.

He couldn’t see Bruce through the French doors, so he looked through the walls and watched, still half asleep, as Batman put himself through an impressively thorough workout. A shower and a tall glass of something poured out of a blender followed, and then he changed back into his discarded pajamas and crept into the bedroom again. Clark couldn’t keep watching without turning his head, and he wasn’t awake enough for that, so he closed his eyes and listened, instead.

Bruce came around to the far side of the bed, where he’d be behind Clark, and paused. “Clark?” he subvocalized.

He sighed and reluctantly let go of Lois to roll over.

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” Bruce murmured apologetically.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, keeping his voice low. The look he got said, _When isn’t something wrong?_ “If we’re going to talk, we should do it somewhere else so we don’t wake Lois.”

“No. It’s nothing that can’t wait, or that can’t be said in front of her.” Grimly, he climbed into bed.

“Then get in the middle,” Clark ordered quietly. “Lois isn’t going to object to waking up in your arms instead of mine, and you need hugs.”

Bruce gave him a wry look as they arranged themselves. “That’s what I was going to ask.” He sighed as Clark pressed himself close, like a panther going from fierce hunter to feline puddle. “Thank you.”

“This is worth waking up for,” he murmured into Bruce’s hair, warm and content.

Two heartbeats lulled him back to sleep.

 

* * *

 

 

Clark woke first, sensing the sunrise, and padded out to the grand room where he could bathe in that golden, life-giving light. When his morning ritual was complete, and the other two still hadn’t joined him in the land of the living, he turned his attention to the kitchen. To his disappointment, the coffee maker was one of the fancy ones that took little cups instead of grounds. He supposed that made more sense for a rich playboy’s weekend getaway, but it meant there would be no smell of brewing coffee to entice sleepers out of the realm of dreams. A cursory check of the fridge made him smile, however. While nothing could beat the aroma of fresh-brewed coffee, bacon came a close second.

By the time Bruce and Lois stumbled out to the breakfast bar, he had a dozen fried eggs on one plate, a pound of crispy bacon on a second, and was working on a stack of French toast currently eight slices high. Three mugs and an assortment of the little cups were lined up on the breakfast bar, three places had been set, and the butter dish and syrup were already out.

“Very domestic,” Lois said, torn between amusement and appreciation.

Bruce just nudged his selection of coffee and mug out of the line. As Clark reached for them he growled, “Do you even know how to work the machine?”

“Found the manual,” he replied cheerfully, flipping French toast while the coffee brewed. “I’m using all your eggs.”

“Good. I’m hungry.”

“I didn’t know you cooked, Smallville,” Lois said as he transferred the serving plates to the breakfast bar.

That made him laugh. “Farm boy, remember? You don’t have to be a master chef to fry an egg. Which coffee would you like?”

“Mmm…this one. Are you using all the bread, too, or can a girl get some toast?”

Four slices went into the impressive toaster; coffee mugs were shuffled. Bruce was halfway through his first serving.

“I think I’m getting used to this,” she said to no one in particular. “What does that say about me?”

“That you’re mentally flexible and adapt quickly,” Bruce replied. “Clark, there should be a bowl of fruit in the fridge.”

Lois’s coffee done, his brewing, the last two pieces of French toast cooking, and it only took a few seconds to peel the plastic off of the bowl of fresh fruit salad. “Should I get some smaller bowls out?”

“Third cabinet on the right.”

He’d take that as a yes. The serving spoons were in the same drawer as the spatulas. Transfer the French toast to his plate – the benefit of being the one who actually cooked it – and he joined the other two for breakfast.

“My toast!”

…Clark fetched the toast, which had just popped, and _then_ joined the other two for breakfast. “So,” he said, applying butter and syrup to his French toast, “do you always work out in the middle of the night?”

Lois paused, butter-laden knife in one hand, toast in the other. “Is that what happened? I went to sleep in _your_ arms and woke up in _his._ Not that I’m objecting,” she added hastily.

“I don’t usually do a full workout at three in the morning.” Bruce took a sip of coffee to hide his grin. “Usually, that’s when I’m finishing up my patrol and coming home, and I’ve gotten my workout and a handful of minor injuries on top of that. Sometimes major ones,” he added thoughtfully.

“Probably the only man in Gotham who stoically endures more pain per month than the average woman,” joked Lois, spearing a chunk of cantaloupe from the bowl. Without even looking at him, she clarified, “Cramps, Smallville. Bruce, tell me you’ve got some kind of amazing painkillers for Selina to swipe at that time of the month.”

“Muscle cramps are a serious concern in my line of work,” he answered. “If yours are bad…”

She shook her head. “Nah, I get off light.”

Clark just drank his coffee and tried to pretend he was taking the subject in stride.

“So, feeling better this morning?” Lois asked cautiously.

Bruce toyed with a strip of bacon, the last survivor of his second helping. “Better is subjective. Feeling more grounded, less liable to do something…unhealthy. Thank you, both of you, for being here.”

“Aww, Bruce…” She leaned over and hugged him. “We’re your friends. We love you. How could we not help when you need us?”

“I’ve never had friends who know both sides of me,” he said dryly. “You’ll forgive me if my expectations are a little low.”

 _I was lucky; my parents-_ The sentence he intended to say got that far through his head before he realized saying it would be a bad idea. He’d already made eye contact, though, and opened his mouth. Time slowed down. Think, Clark. How can you cover what you were about to say in such a way that you don’t hurt him?

Time sped up.

“Are you going to eat that?” Clark asked, pointing to the bacon Bruce was holding. “Because if you’re not…”

Bruce looked at him for a long moment, the searching, soul-peering look he was used to getting from Batman. “Clark,” he said slowly, “if you want to eat something out of my hand, fruit is usually a better choice for that. I’d elaborate, but I think maybe Lois would rather demonstrate why.”

This…was not where Clark intended to deflect the conversation, but he couldn’t back out now. “Uh…okay.”

“Strawberry,” Lois half-demanded, a wicked grin on her face.

Clark picked up a halved strawberry and tentatively offered it to her. She leaned forward while Bruce nibbled his bacon and puckered up as if she were about to kiss the fruit, then took it into her mouth slowly, sensuously, enveloping it until her lips reached his fingers – and they didn’t stop. She sucked the tips of them gently, licked any hint of juice off of them, and looked up through her eyelashes as she sat slowly back, the slow motion of her chewing hiding the smirk he knew had to be there because his ears were on fire and he was wondering what those lips would feel like somewhere else. The fact that she’d let him see right down her nightgown didn’t help things in the slightest.

“I see,” he said shakily. “I’m going to take a shower now.”

Bruce laughed.

“Good idea,” Lois chirped. “I think I’ll take one, too.”

“Careful, Lois. You’re going to break him.”

She grinned and rolled her eyes. “You _have_ more than one shower, Bruce. Thank you for breakfast,” she said as she leaned over to kiss Clark on the cheek. “Just remember to not put any holes in the wall.”

They both watched her saunter off to the second bedroom, although Clark was willing to bet they weren’t entertaining the same thoughts.

“I don’t think she’s going to let you live that down,” Bruce said mildly.

“I can live with that. When are you…?”

“Meet me in the study after you shower and dress; we’ll get the paperwork taken care of and I’ll gently but firmly show the two of you out before heading back to Gotham. Have Lois call the manor around four-thirty from the office and complain that I didn’t show you two the helicopter pad. If the trial went well, I’ll schedule something for next week. If it didn’t…” He met Clark’s eyes solemnly, jaw clenched. “If it didn’t, I’ll offer to rectify that the next day.”

Clark nodded and hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning, I think the muse for this story got distracted or went to Tahiti or something. There is one more part after this, and I think it's a pretty good leaving-things-open-but-with-drawable-conclusions stopping point, but if it turns out to be a horrific cliffhanger I'll see if I can stick everyone in a room together until I get an epilogue written.


	7. The trial

The courtroom was packed, if the amount of chatter he was picking up through the earpiece was anything to go on. Most of those who had come to watch were fellow environmentalists, but there were a few of Catwoman’s victims, too. Somewhat surprisingly, there had been less negative attention than he thought there would be. He guessed even the spoiled rich who’d been fleeced appreciated that Catwoman had been instrumental in saving Gotham. He lurked in the backseat of the car, parked just around the block from the courthouse, one ear in the outside world while the other – and most of his attention – was focused on the courtroom.

The judge entered and a portion of his fear dissolved as he recognized her voice. She was stern but fair, and the chance that the plea bargain would be turned down was minimal, but he didn’t relax. Impatiently, he listened as the hearing progressed. Van Dorn was there personally; good. Selina sounded…not calm, but controlled. She was wound up as tight as a harp string, enduring this because he said _please_ , trusting that the light at the end of the tunnel would not be a train.

He wished he’d brought Isis; he wasn’t exactly relaxed, himself. But he wouldn’t risk anything happening to the lanky cat.

_“Selina Kyle, you have pled guilty to the charges brought against Catwoman...”_

Finally! Soon, this would all be over – for good or for ill.

_“..and you understand you can be sentenced to as much as twenty-five years in prison?”_

_“Yes, your honor.”_

“Be strong,” he murmured, the hand not cupping his ear clenched into a fist. He wondered briefly what Van Dorn was playing at, charging _Catwoman_ instead of _Selina Kyle._

_“Regardless of the fact that you committed the crimes to benefit animals and wildlife, theft is theft.”_

_“Yes, your Honor.”_

Benign coping mechanism. That’s what Selina said she hoped the psych profile concluded. Could Van Dorn be trying to argue that if Selina was punished too severely, she could turn into the next costumed threat to Gotham?

_“However, since you did help save Gotham City from annihilation-”_

That sounded promising…

_“-and the District Attorney has recommended a plea bargain-”_

Take it, take it, take it…

_“-I have decided to sentence you to five years-”_

No…no…no…

_“-probation.”_

YES!

The courtroom went wild. He kept his reaction to a sigh and a slump as the fear evaporated out of him.

“Good news, sir?” Alfred asked, meeting his eyes in the rearview mirror.

“Probation, five years,” he answered. Then his eyes narrowed as the judge banged her gavel.

 _“I’m not finished!”_ she roared. The courtroom went deathly quiet. In the resonant, fire-and-brimstone tones she was known for, she declared, _“But I’m warning you, Miss Kyle – if you ever don your Catwoman costume again-”_

He held his breath. He didn’t know why it was so important to her, but being denied it-!

_“-to violate the law-”_

Again, he sighed and let himself slump in relief.

_“I’ll not only revoke probation, I’ll throw the book at you.”_

_“I understand,”_ Selina said, her voice vibrating with what had to be tangled fear giving way to relief.

He sat in the backseat, eyes closed, focusing on meditation techniques to purge the surging emotion within him – or at least keep it contained – so that he could be the steadying rock Selina would need to cling to after her ordeal. It seemed to take forever for the details to be worked out, but Alfred pulled around to the front of the building and finally, the grand double doors opened to let out a wave of chattering humanity with Selina and Maeven at its crest. Alfred had parked beside the assistant’s car and he was able to watch them approach, hounded by reporters desperate for a reaction. Maeven looked mousy and nervous, as she always did, but he knew there was a surprising core of strength behind that unassuming exterior. Selina looked like a portrait Raphael had painted, her face composed but lifelessly stiff and distant, incongruous against her red coat and the gaggle of press instead of a brocade gown and slightly-misty landscape. Alfred moved smoothly around to open the back door for her as they got close, and both of them saw him at the same time. Maeven gave a tiny gasp and then nodded; Selina froze for a heartbeat and then flowed, graceful as her cat, into the backseat with him.

“Bruce,” she said as the door shut behind her and the gaggle of frustrated reporters settled for taking pictures. “I’m free. I can’t believe I’m really free!” She didn’t sound enthused. She sounded terrified.

The car pulled out into traffic; he didn’t smile at her, letting her see his concern. “For a free woman, you look awfully tense.”

“I’ve been keeping everything bottled up,” she said shortly, “and now that I don’t have to endure it anymore, I’m going to cry.”

He pulled her into his arms, reveling briefly in how right it felt. “Go ahead,” he said, discarding all pretense of not being Batman. “I’ve got you.”

The harp string snapped. All the fear and frustration and anger she hadn’t let herself express boiled up and was expelled with the giddiness and relief and joy of being out of prison and not expressly denied her costume. There was nothing elegant or composed about it, and he was reminded of Superman holding him as he wept. Meaningless reassurances weren’t his forte, but he stroked her hair gently and held her with Batman’s strength until the storm passed, then offered her a handkerchief.

“I’m sorry I’m such a mess,” she said shakily as she accepted it.

“You’re not,” he countered firmly. “At least, not compared to what I looked like before Superman visited you.”

“Batman?” she asked tentatively, a question that for two months she’d been taking the answer to on faith.

He glowered at the back of the front seat. “Bringing you in was one of the hardest things I’ve ever forced myself to do. I love you, Selina. The fear that I’d destroyed any chance for whatever we might have had together…” He closed his eyes, hands fisted at the memory. “I was a wreck.”

Silence for a long, damning moment. Then, a warm hand on top of his. “The things you offered as Bruce Wayne – dinner and dancing and falling asleep and waking up – are they still on the table?”

Hope. This, he thought as he struggled with the foreign sensation. This was what he wanted. This glorious woman, beautiful and strong and wounded, who had the temerity to turn down Bruce Wayne and the courage to kiss Batman. He wanted her by his side for the rest of his life. “Yes,” he said quietly, meeting her red-rimmed eyes. “All of it and more. _Everything_. I don’t think either of us wants you to risk violating your probation helping me at night, but the terms of the plea bargain…”

“Don’t forbid the use of the costume for lawful activities. Benign coping mechanism,” she added, her voice hugging the words.

“Probably healthier than mine,” he said dryly. He didn’t have to look out the window to recognize the curves the car was navigating. “Selina…we have a lot to talk about, and not all of it is going to be pleasant, but it can wait until after dinner. Maeven packed you some clothes when Isis accepted me – may I offer you the hospitality of Wayne Manor for a few days?”

Selina started as the car came to a gentle stop and whirled around to stare out at the front of the manor. Her vision was obscured briefly as Alfred opened the door for her, and he smiled at the way she climbed warily out. Like mistress, like cat, he thought with amusement.

“My costume,” she said suddenly. “Did Maeven…?”

“She entrusted it to me, Miss Selina,” Alfred soothed. “Although I shudder to think what treatment it must have suffered during your incarceration. I shall see that it is laundered _properly_ , with the same care I give to Master Bruce’s _other_ suits, and if it requires mending then I shall see to that as well.”

“Thank you,” she said calmly, drawing composure about her like a cloak. When he climbed out to stand next to her, she smiled up at him. “I think I could get used to this.”

“I hope so,” he teased. “It would be awkward if Mrs. Wayne never quite got accustomed to living in Wayne Manor.”

She took his proffered arm and let him lead her to the front door, which Alfred opened for them. “Mrs. Wayne?” There was a slight edge to her voice, but no hostility.

He gave her a look of false innocence. “Would you prefer to hyphenate?”

Absently, she let Alfred take her coat and turned to face him, bold but at the same time, uncertain. “We barely know each other,” she protested. “Are you sure you want to…”

He kissed her. Fierce and primal, desperate and reassuring, one hand in her hair and the other pulling her close, three nights of self-loathing and two months of anxious hope _._ The desire to spend the rest of his life with her and other, more nebulous dreams he’d long since discarded as impossibilities, all the things he’d kept locked behind the words with which he’d damned himself as the handcuffs closed around her wrists: _More than you’ll ever know._ She kissed back with equal ferocity, trusting and demanding as an insistent cat seeking attention, and when it ended she laid her head on his chest with a contented sigh.

“I’m sure,” he murmured into her hair.

“No arguments here,” she purred.

He laughed, the clear, genuine laughter that made Clark look at him like a golden retriever being told _good boy_. “And you haven’t even seen more than the entryway! This won’t do.” A dip, a scoop, and she clung to him deliciously as he carried her to the cluster of couches and entertainment center that passed for a living room. “Mommy’s home,” he announced cheerfully, setting Selina on her feet, mentally crossing his fingers that the cat was napping in her usual corner of one couch.

“Mrow?”

“Isis!”

For the second time in an hour Selina wept, and he stood back to watch as she hugged her baby. Isis was nearly as frantic, head-butting and scent marking and purring so loud that he was astounded her lanky little body could produce anything of that volume without yowling. Their reunion concluded at some signal he couldn’t see, Isis climbing to her mistress’s shoulder as Selina threw herself into his arms again. He hugged her tightly, the way he’d wanted to instead of handcuffing her, Isis’s paws familiar points of weight as she circled from Selina’s shoulders to his and back again, still purring thunderously.

“Oh, Bruce, thank you!” She inhaled shakily, still recovering her composure. “Thank you for taking such good care of her. She likes you, she trusts you, and that says more about you than you can imagine.”

“Someone hurt you,” he said quietly in Batman’s growl. “Both of you. I won’t ask, but if you ever want to talk, I’ll listen.”

She pulled away to look at him, that sharp, piercing examination he’d been subjected to while she was in prison. “You’re right,” she said simply. “And when the time comes, I won’t hyphenate. If he tracks me down, I want him to see _exactly_ what I’ve done with my life.”

He forced himself to smile, just a little. “And we’ll discuss what I’ve done with _my_ life after dinner. In the meantime, would you like to see the room Isis has been living in when she’s not sleeping on the couch or in my bed?”

The wicked, throaty chuckle he got went straight to his loins. “Mmm, good work, Isis my sweet.” The cat nuzzled her cheek as she applied gentle scratching. “I hope you don’t mind _two_ kitties in your bed. I’d hate to make her choose who to sleep with.”

“I don’t mind,” he said with forced lightness, “but if you change your mind after dinner, I won’t mind that, either.”

She gave him another sharp look, then a tiny nod. He didn’t want to talk about it yet; she wouldn’t pry. Good enough. He led her to the guest bedroom reserved for Isis, chatting about things they passed so she would have a trail of landmarks to navigate by, and discreetly absented himself with a smile when she saw the bathroom and realized she could have not only a real shower, but an actual bath.

 

* * *

 

 

Selfishly, Selina squashed the nagging feelings of guilt that pricked at her while she indulged in a hot bath. Bruce had vanished somewhere after her indrawn breath at seeing the lavish bathroom, but before she had turned to ask what time dinner was. He knew she’d been through a lot, and he was bending over backwards to apologize for having been the cause of her suffering. He would afford her this luxury. With a slight frown, she silently promised the guilt that she’d tell him he was forgiven when they had that after-dinner conversation. That would be something to worry about if he hadn’t made it _abundantly_ clear in the most delicious way possible that ‘the law’ was no longer what was between them.

Maeven had packed her red dress and the matching earrings – the ensemble she’d been wearing the night she and Bruce Wayne had met. The fabric slid over her skin like a lover’s caress, erasing memories of prison clothes and almost doing more for her frazzled composure than the bath had. The sensuous feel of the skirt, the halter neckline that revealed nothing in front and everything in back and left her arms completely bare, awoke the cat in her that had been restrained for two long months. Hair still damp, feeling close to being someone worthy of admiration again, she picked up the shoes and caught Isis’s attention.

“What do you think, my precious?” she asked the cat. “Is it time for dinner?”

In her apartment, that would have sent Isis to the kitchen to pace the counter until Selina emptied a can of wet food into her bowl. Here, Isis dropped the stuffed toy she had been mauling and trotted out the door. Selina followed her cat down the hall, noting the things Bruce had told her about on the way up, and then down the stairs to the cluster of furniture that looked like someone had scooped the living room out of a smaller house and set it in the middle of this cavernous hall. Bruce was standing there, laughing at something someone on the phone had said, back to her as she paused on the landing.

For a moment, she was filled with insecurity. That passed as quickly as it came, leaving jealousy to sink its claws into her shoulders. She remembered what Superman had hinted at – that she wasn’t the only one to own real estate in Batman’s heart – and tried to get her reaction under control. Not quick enough; Isis meowed at him from the bottom of the stairs and he turned around to find her staring at him.

He smiled, the sort of expression she’d only seen in movies during the romantic climax, and suddenly she felt shallow and petty. “I’ll be in Metropolis next week,” he promised vaguely, devouring Selina with his eyes. “You can see it then.” A pause, and he smiled sheepishly, gaze still fastened securely on her. “Yeah, she did. Maybe you and Clark will get to meet her next week. Thank you both again. I’m going to let you go so I can make a fool of myself in front of the most beautiful woman in Gotham. You, too. Bye.”

“Am I interrupting?” she asked as he placed the receiver back on the cradle, gliding down the remaining steps.

“Not at all,” he breathed. “That was Lois Lane, star reporter for the Daily Planet in Metropolis. I just established a penthouse there and invited her and Clark Kent for an exclusive look at it, but deliberately neglected to show them the helicopter pad…” his expression turned solemn. “…and other things. But that falls under ‘things we’ll talk about after dinner’. Would you like to eat in the dining room, or in front of the fireplace?”

She turned at his gesture. Sure enough, generous fireplace complete with fire. Selina felt a purr bubble up and swallowed it. “The fireplace,” she said, her voice low and smoky. She didn’t _say_ that there were other things she wouldn’t mind doing with him in front of that fireplace, but the way his smile slanted into knowing amusement hinted that she didn’t have to.

 

* * *

 

 

As soon as Alfred whisked away the last dishes, leaving the rug between them invitingly empty, Bruce’s expression turned grim.

Selina sat up. “Bruce…before we start, there’s something I want to tell you, and I think you deserve to hear it from me.”

He looked like he wanted to protest, but nodded silently.

“You know I don’t regret anything we did as Batman and Catwoman,” she said slowly. “If I had known, that first night, that going out would lead to getting caught and spending two months in prison before having a romantic dinner with the man who put me there…” She bit her lip at the way Bruce flinched, anticipating the worst. “…I wouldn’t have done _anything_ differently. And believe me, I had _plenty_ of time to think about it.”

He looked astounded. “You really mean that? Selina, I…”

She reached out and placed one finger on his lips. “No. Not you, Bruce. Me. _I’m_ the reason I was caught and sent to jail. It was only a matter of time before _someone_ caught me; it just happened to be you because I made the decision to break the law in Gotham City. Whether or not you can forgive me for doing that, I’m glad you were the one to bring me in.”

Although his expression didn’t get any lighter, some of the tension left it. “Why don’t we adjourn to the couch?” he asked in a tone that made a lie out of the question mark.

With one strong hand he pulled her lightly to her feet and guided her over to the couch, where Isis woke from her nap and settled on her lap. Somehow, it wasn’t a surprise that he didn’t sit beside her. He paced back and forth a few times, keeping the low table between them, before abruptly stopping.

“This isn’t easy for me,” he growled. _Batman_ growled. “I’ve spent most of my life hiding how badly hurt I was by my parents’ deaths. A good part of what you think you know about Bruce Wayne is a façade to hide the fact that I’m Batman.”

He stopped and looked at her, piercingly, waiting for a reaction. Bruce Wayne, Gotham’s most eligible bachelor. Rich playboy, charming and mostly discreet, moves fast at the beginning and then loses steam halfway through – if he doesn’t get distracted by another pretty face first. Works hard and parties harder, usually gets started before whatever bash he’s showing up fashionably late to. Her eyes narrowed as she turned the facts on end and assembled them into a different picture entirely. Avoiding personal entanglements that might lead to his secret being exposed, scattering red herrings like a flower girl at a wedding to cover the fact that his other evening suit came with a cowl and that he had engagements which could pop up without warning. Then her eyes widened as she remembered his disappearing act at the charity auction, the night they’d met.

“When did you figure me out?” she asked wryly, scratching gently behind Isis’s ears.

He gave a quick bark of laughter. “After our second attempt at going to lunch. Isis has distinctive fur, and it wasn’t much of a stretch to imagine that a woman with a Cornish Rex who was involved in wildcat conservation could be funding it via thefts assisted by a Cornish Rex.”

She grinned ruefully, then glanced down at her cat and said, “Why did you let me go?”

“You screamed,” he answered somberly. “I’ve heard a cry like that before; it’s etched into my nightmares. Whatever your goals, whatever else you might have done, that cat is your life. I deal with a lot of damaged and unbalanced people. I’ve gotten good at identifying which ones are rotten to the core, and which ones can be pulled back from the edge. I’m not Batman because I want to punish people. I do it because I want to _help_ people, to make Gotham a safer place, a place where an eight-year-old boy doesn’t have to watch his parents die.” Bruce broke off, one hand fisted at his side, lips pressed into a grim line. After a few deep breaths, he relaxed and continued. “Isis was clearly well-trained and accustomed to your acrobatics, but she didn’t know that a truck racing towards her meant _danger_. I let you go because there was more to your story than simple burglary.” He looked at her calmly, not quite asking but offering an opportunity if she wanted to talk.

“I didn’t have a pleasant childhood,” she started with dry understatement. “I’m not going to go into details and if you choose to pry, I’ll thank you to leave me out of it entirely. At first, I learned how to be a thief because I needed somewhere to go that wasn’t home. Then, when I got older, I started planning my escape. Once I had enough to get myself and Isis out of there, I changed my name and moved, and I’ve never looked back. After I was established comfortably, however, I couldn’t just laze around. Not in my nature. So I started getting involved with charities and nonprofits for animals. I rescued myself, but who stands up for the ones that can’t stand up for themselves?”

“Careful,” he growled. “Poison Ivy went down that path with plants.”

She waved the issue away. “I’m not trying to supplant humanity or punish anyone; I just want to lend a hand to other suffering animals. Anyway, I don’t need to steal for money, and I never used any of it on myself once I got out – I gave it all away.” He looked relieved, and she gave him a small, rueful smile. “I didn’t even do it for the money, not really. Not even as a child.”

“Then why?” Oh, she had his interest now.

“I’m a cat,” she answered simply. “I need a challenge, and I need to exercise my freedom. Something tells me you know what that’s like.”

He returned her rueful smile. “You could say that. The difference is that you know who you are beneath the mask, whereas I…have another mask.” Bruce grimaced. “Selina…I want to change that. I’m _trying_ to change that, and with your help I think I can, but…” Again he made a fist, reining in his temper, the easy menace of a crouching panther looking incredibly out of place against his brown suit. “There are some things I can’t change, and you deserve to know.”

To her utter surprise, he took his suit jacket off.

“Bruce?”

He didn’t answer, fingers nimbly unbuttoning the thick cotton shirt, and then he shrugged out of it and turned to face her, gloriously nude from the waist up. Well, if this wasn’t an unexpectedly delightful direction for the evening to go in! Shamelessly, she drank in every detail of his chiseled torso, nudging Isis off her lap with fingers that itched to trace every one of the creatively assorted scars that declared his prowess with the silent roar of a metaphoric lion.

“Magnificent,” she breathed. When he turned a slow circle, she realized she’d gestured imperiously and reluctantly forced her gaze up to his face. The wary hope there made her smile; the realization that none of his paramours had been treated to this sight made her smile _wickedly_. “Will I get to see how far down they go?”

Astonishment, quickly covered by a roguish grin. “Oh, they go all the way.” Then, to her disappointment, he slid the shirt back on. “Not tonight,” he said firmly. “I’ve been worrying about your reaction for a few weeks now, and I need time to let it sink in.” A brief pause and a fleeting grimace. “I may try to convince myself that you were less than enthused. They’re not something I’m proud of.”

“Mmm. Bruce, please believe me when I say I am _very_ enthused. Especially with the way you kissed me in the entryway.”

“I’ve wanted to do that for two months,” he said lightly. “Ever since Superman…” And just like that, the good mood drained out of him and left sorrowful resignation.

“Bruce?” she asked, not bothering to hide her worry.

“He asked if you would share me.”

“And I will,” she protested. “Bruce, I _love_ you but if I’m not the only one, then I’ll settle for as much as I can get.”

“Superman,” he repeated, grimly, and suddenly she understood. He nodded at her look of realization. “Clark Kent and Lois Lane. She figured him out quite a while back, and me after my first visit to Metropolis. Chasing the Joker,” he explained. “Clark and I figured each other out then as well, although I still think using x-ray vision to see through my mask was cheating.”

“No wonder he was so interested in how I felt,” she said slowly.

“He’s a good friend.”

Selina couldn’t help it; she arched one eyebrow and smiled. “ _How_ good a friend, exactly?”

“Good enough that after three days of tearing myself apart over sending you to jail he left work early and flew here to let me punch his invulnerable skin until my knuckles were bloody, hold me while I cried like a baby, and then go ask if you hated me after I finally passed out.”

The only reasonably way to respond to that was with a hug, and she flung herself off the couch and into his arms without a second thought. They trembled around her while he bent his head to her hair, and for a long minute they stood like that in silence.

“You’re the only one I’m romantically attracted to,” he murmured into her hair. “I dated Lois briefly during my visit, both as cover and as an attempt to get information on Superman, but her heart belongs to Clark. She’s disappointed that neither he nor I are sexually attracted to each other, and until I met you, she was the woman I cared most about. I asked her to call under the pretense of not having been shown the helicopter bay, and my response would tell her how your trial went. When you came down for dinner, she was reassuring me that you wouldn’t be disgusted by the scar tissue.”

The lingering bits of jealousy dissolved; she wouldn’t be sharing nearly as much as she’d feared. “And Clark?”

“We’re not sexually attracted to each other,” he repeated firmly. Then he sighed. “Aside from that, I don’t know what you’d call it. Something more than just friends, but less than candlelight dinners.”

She smiled into his shoulder. “I think I can deal with that. So, what’s next on the list of things we need to talk about?”

Quiet laughter. “I didn’t expect it to go this smoothly. Would you mind if we sat on the couch for a few minutes so I can gather my thoughts? I’m normally much better prepared for anything and everything, but I’ve been worried to distraction over this and one night of sound sleep doesn’t quite make up for to weeks of catnaps and nightmares.”

“I can relate,” Selina said dryly, stepping back to smile at him in reassurance. “I don’t sleep well without my precious baby.”

‘A few minutes on the couch’ turned, unsurprisingly, into ‘twenty minutes of seeing how far they could get while still remaining fully clothed’ and ended when Isis meowed, Selina told her sternly “Not right now, mommy’s busy,” and Bruce laughed until he couldn’t breathe.

“Are you alright?” she asked, torn between amusement and concern.

He pulled her back against his chest, holding her comfortably close with a contented sigh. “I haven’t been alright since I was eight, but I think right now comes closest. I still worry that I’m going to ruin this somehow, that I’ll drive you away or you’ll come to your senses, but it’s…easier to have hope when I’m holding you.”

“You’re afraid-” Selina tore herself out of his embrace to look at him in astonishment that bordered on anger. “Bruce, I may not have known entirely what I was getting into the first time I kissed you, but I knew it would be challenging. I don’t expect that _anything_ the two of us do will be normal because we’re both struggling against what happened to us as children, but I _do_ expect that we will be _partners_ in this and all that implies so unless you actively try to hurt me…” She let it trail off menacingly. He didn’t look angry, which was good. He didn’t look hurt, which was better. He did, however, look thoughtful and…gratified?

“Good,” he said earnestly. “It’s not easy for me to admit when I need help, and I know I have a bad habit of arrogantly making decisions for other people or taking them for granted-”

“Just try it,” she dared, eyes flashing.

Bruce smiled. “You won’t put up with that, I know. Thank you, Selina. Would you like to discuss the man I hope you will someday marry?”

Well, wasn’t that a delightful proposition? Selina wasn’t sure which part was more enticing – the thought of marrying Batman, or the idea of shaping Bruce Wayne – but she settled back into his arms with the lofty grace of a cat. “What did you have in mind?”

“In general? Hiring you as a personal assistant, then slowly taking our relationship from professional to personal.”

“And will I be living in my place, or yours?”

“Whichever you like,” he said instantly. “If you move in, though, I have to warn you that with Bruce Wayne’s reputation, there will be rumors that I’m having sex with you.”

“Mmm, and will they _only_ be rumors?”

He looked down at her in shock, her wicked grin eliciting an answering one from him. “I doubt the rumors will bear much resemblance to what we _actually_ do behind closed doors. On the subject of rumors, Bruce Wayne has been noticeably well-behaved these last few weeks with regards to not coming home wearing someone else’s perfume. I’ve been smiling sheepishly and pleading cat, but there’s already been a few sly comments about it. I think it would be more believable if Bruce Wayne returned to his old habits between the conclusion of your visit and when his relationship with his new assistant crosses into being personal, but if I weren’t comfortable with him being a bit of a buffoon, I wouldn’t have built him into one. His reputation wasn’t important to me, only the good I could do for Gotham with him. It’s no longer about what I want or what I think – he’ll be _your_ husband, if you’ll have him, and I want him to be someone _you’re_ comfortable with.”

She thought about that for a minute, one part of her mind admiring how patient and earnest he looked while the rest debated scenarios.

“Um…there’s another wrinkle to things,” he added suddenly. “Clark asked for my help with his public persona. He’ll be moving into the Metropolis penthouse next month, and there will be rumors that our friendship goes further than that. In reality, he’ll be having secret assignations with Lois. When the rumors become intolerable to any of us, including you, we’ll stage a confrontation there. Superman will find out that Lois’s heart belongs to Clark and be respectfully turned down, Clark’s sexuality will be cleared of any questions, and his secret will be that much safer.”

Oh, she wasn’t anyone’s fool. Her thoughts flew from point to point, building parallels and leaping to conclusions. She was a vulnerability in Batman’s armor – _if_ they weren’t _very_ careful. Selina sat up again to bore into Bruce’s startled eyes from a greater height. “Promise me,” she snarled. “ _Promise_ me that I’ll get to kiss Batman in private, and Catwoman will give him the cold shoulder if they cross paths at night.”

Lightning-fast, he followed her train of thought. “You’d do that?” he asked, his voice quiet and serious. “You’d give that up to protect my secret?”

She didn’t flinch, her gaze unwavering. “The only ones who know that I still care about Batman are you and Superman, and it’s safer for both of us if it stays that way. We can stage a fight, if you think that will help. I’ll hurl insults and scratch your cape, and you can…”

“Stand there stoically and endure the fury of the Catwoman scorned,” he supplied. “Would you like me to be suspicious of your motives when we meet at night?”

“Just skeptical will do. If the cavalry that arrived at Red Claw’s resort is any indication, the police trust Batman’s judgment and I don’t relish the thought of being suspected of anything because we were too heavy-handed.” A thought occurred to her and she cupped his cheek briefly before resting her hand on his broad chest. “Mmm, maybe you could just chase me down a few times and have your skepticism disappointed when I’ve been a good kitty, then wave your finger sternly at me and swear that you’ll be watching while I laugh and vanish into the night.”

He took her hand and kissed it, never breaking eye contact. “I promise,” he said in Batman’s low, gravelly voice. “But only if you come straight back here while the sweat is still on your lips. You’re not the only one who finds that idea…enticing.”

Slowly, she smiled. “Then let Bruce Wayne return to his wandering ways. I want to flex my claws and defeat every other woman by winning you away from them. Do you really get that drunk?”

Laughter bubbled out of him, warm and rich and clear as a bell. “No. It’s fatigue. You’re free to rein in Bruce Wayne’s supposed drinking, as well, by keeping him home for what everyone will assume is hours of passionate sex. I just hope you won’t be disappointed when it _isn’t_.”

“I wondered when you slept,” she teased briefly. “Bruce…thank you for everything you’ve done. Finding people I can trust with my other side isn’t easy, and I imagine it’s a lot tougher for you.”

He pulled her back into his arms. “I’m lucky to have two very good friends, and I hope they’ll be _your_ very good friends, as well.”

The jealousy reared its head again; angrily, she swatted it with a tight little smile. Superman – Clark – knew that she’d be a little touchy, and Lois had been on the phone when her appearance had derailed Bruce’s train of thought. He loved _her_ , she didn’t have anything to be jealous of. “Next week, if I recall, you’re going to Metropolis for a follow-up interview. I’d like to go with you.”

“Will you let me hire you as my personal assistant?” he murmured into her hair.

“If my record won’t cause any trouble.”

He chuckled at that. “I already floated the idea past Lucius. He said, and I quote, _Well hell, if she could juggle that and a day job while still keeping everything under wraps, she ought to be able to keep you out of trouble. No offense, Bruce._ ” He dropped his uncanny mimicry of an older black man and added, “Bruce Wayne is notorious for getting lost or locked into or out of rooms or just forgetting things. I suspect Lucius has guessed the real reason, but he doesn’t so much as hint that he’s caught on. Once you’re settled in and up to speed on everything, though, you’ll be able to act as my proxy for some things.”

“Or provide an alibi no one wants to question,” she purred.

“You’ll have your work cut out for you,” teased Bruce. “Don’t be afraid to take Bruce Wayne firmly in hand.”

That was too good an opening to pass up. “Oh,” she said archly, “I can’t _wait_ to take Bruce Wayne _firmly in hand_ – but you did say not tonight, so I’ll behave. _This_ time.”

She got kissed for that, deep and desperate and ending far to soon for her taste as he pulled back with a groan. “You,” he chided with insincere severity, “are very dangerous to my self-control.”

It took an effort to not laugh. “Sorry. I’ll be a good kitty and sleep in my own bed tonight.”

“And force Isis to choose between us?”

His tone was light and joking, but there was something hurt in his eyes. Selina held that gaze for a long moment, weighing and measuring. He wouldn’t cross the line he’d laid down for himself, but at the same time he was afraid of losing her. Well, she was supremely confident in his affections, but she wasn’t nearly as certain in the quality of sleep either of them would get alone.

“You need me as much as I need you,” she said softly. “What a pair we make, hmm?”

“Does this mean Isis won’t have to choose?”

She kissed him lightly. “You did offer to be the warmth I fall asleep with; I’m just taking you up on that. I’ll be a good kitty, I promise. But when you’re ready for me to be naughty…”

Batman’s laugh tingled down her spine. “You’ll be the first to know.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...and there you have it. If this is too much of a cliffhanger, let me know and I'll see if I can beat an epilogue out of the cast - but I make no promises. The muse is a fickle thing.


	8. The long-awaited dinner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised to lock the muses in a room and beat them until an epilogue fell out, and it took longer than I expected due to a W13 muse infestation and RL things like Finding A Job. Merry early Christmas to anyone who's been waiting (patiently or otherwise) these last five months?

“ _Tell_ me that’s Ms. Wayne.” Lois shook her head briefly. “I-I mean Ms. Kyle.”

Clark looked up, saw who she was talking about, and said in an undertone, “I think you were right the first time.”

“Huh. You think they moved that fast?” She sounded skeptical, but not surprised.

“No, but I think it’s an inevitability.”

Bruce was his usual public self, cheerful and easygoing and just slightly oblivious. Two steps behind him and one to the right, Selina stalked like an urban panther in pencil-skirted power suit. In prison, in a jumpsuit and handcuffs, she’d managed elegance and aloof dignity. In the wake of Bruce Wayne, she radiated predatory confidence and silently challenged every observer to try something, anything, so she could unsheathe her claws. Perhaps another person would seem to be on an invisible leash, trailing behind Bruce the way she was, but if there was a leash there then Clark would bet his cape _she_ was the one holding it.

“Lois!” Bruce beamed at her. “You look lovely, as always.”

Because he was watching, Clark saw Selina’s mouth tighten slightly. It wasn’t enough to tell him which emotion she was holding back. Then her eyes slid to his, and she examined him as though he were an unusually large mouse and she were deciding whether or not to pounce.

“…apologize for the incomplete tour,” Bruce was saying. “Please, won’t you and Clark join me tonight?” His voice dropped down almost into the realm of insinuation. “Let me show you my helicopter pad.”

Lois choked back a laugh and muttered, “That’s what _she_ said.”

Selina’s expression turned icy. Clark braced himself and said, “We’d love to, Bruce. Are you kidnapping us immediately, or do we have time to warn Perry?”

“I learned from my mistake last week,” he laughed. “Let’s say…seven? I’m having diner delivered from that Italian place Lois recommended.”

“And breakfast?” Lois asked, teasing, ignoring the other woman completely.

“There’s that bakery,” he offered. “Unless Chef Clark graces the kitchen again.”

In other words, the invitation was open to stay overnight. “I don’t mind cooking. Seven, then.” Carefully, he offered Selina a small smile. “I look forward to meeting you, Ms. Kyle.”

It was worth it to see her eyes widen. She knew what he’d done – she either recognized or had been told about him, and he’d just let her know that he knew it, too. Slowly, her icy expression thawed into an equally small smile that vanished into another predatory look as Lois smacked Bruce’s arm lightly.

“Bruce! You weren’t going to introduce us?”

Was that feigned discomfort, or the real thing? “Uh…Clark Kent, Lois Lane, my assistant: Selina Kyle.”

“Charmed,” she said in a tone of voice that meant _go away_.

Lois wasn’t going to go away. “Ms. Kyle, how did you manage to procure such a prestigious position mere days after your release on probation?” She was keeping it professional, at least, and Selina seemed familiar with that arena.

“He asked and I accepted. If you intend to ask _why_ , you’ll have to ask him.”

“I like her style,” he said with a shrug before she could do just that. “You should know, Lois, that I like a woman who’s not afraid of danger – but there’s more to Ms. Kyle than that.” He lavished a warm smile on her that Clark was fairly certain wasn’t faked, and her expression warmed slightly in return. “She’s passionate about her goals, and pursues them zealously. I had to talk her into accepting the date she bought, and then we didn’t actually make it to lunch! Wound up in a business meeting instead and had to reschedule. I’m not the easiest person to keep up with-”

“Isn’t _that_ the truth,” Lois muttered.

“-but she’s proven that she can do it, and that’s the kind of person I want working for Wayne Enterprises. If anyone objects to her record, well…” He shrugged, and she smiled tightly. “Then I guess they’ll have to deal with looking foolish, because she risked her life to save Gotham.”

Lois looked a little startled by the edge not-quite-hidden under his usual charm, but Clark wasn’t surprised at all. Maybe it was because he was used to dealing with Batman, or maybe because he’d seen firsthand how much Bruce cared about Selina. Either way, he smiled again at the wary woman. “Bruce is lucky to have you. Working for him,” he added, quick enough that anyone else would take his hesitation for stumbling over words the way Clark Kent sometimes did.

Jade-green eyes weighed his words the way they had when he’d asked if she would share Batman’s heart. “Thank you,” she said finally, and he didn’t just imagine that some of the tension between them eased.

“So,” Bruce asked, cheerfully oblivious, “we’ll see you at seven?”

Lois answered for both of them. “Absolutely.”

 

* * *

 

“I’m trying to keep calm, for Bruce’s sake,” Lois said as he drove them to the apartment building, “but Selina just _does not_ like me.”

“You’re competition,” Clark said mildly. “She knows we both are. When Superman talked to her in prison, she said she’d be willing to share but that she might not want to be around the others she was sharing with for a while.”

Lois snorted. “Does she not know how madly Bruce is in love with her?”

“I’m sure she does, but she doesn’t know how madly in love – or not – Bruce is with _us_.”

She stared out the window for a block and a half. “I guess you’re right. Still, it might be a little…tense…until we get that straightened out.”

As they rode the elevator, overnight bags in hand, he was thinking the same thing. He scanned through the walls, following Lois, and was mildly surprised to see Selina in the second bedroom while Bruce was arranging something in the dining room.

“We’re here,” Lois announced over the penthouse greeting them by name.

Selina emerged first, wearing comfortable slacks and a blouse, and she looked Clark right in the eyes. Fearlessly, the way she’d done in handcuffs. “Superman, I presume?”

Warily, he nodded.

“Thank you,” she said in a warmer tone than he’d imagined she would use so soon. “Bruce is lucky to have someone he can trust as much as he trusts you, and I doubt he’d have told me his secret without your support.”

This was unexpected. Welcome, but unexpected. Clark dropped his bag, picked up his jaw, and only used a _little_ bit of super-speed to cross the distance and hug her. “He really, _really_ loves you,” he murmured into her ear; Bruce was entering earshot.

Her reply was a low, throaty purr. “I know.”

Lois stepped up as they parted. “Hi,” she said firmly, offering Selina a hand. “I think we got off on the wrong foot earlier.”

The other woman smiled, a smugly feline expression. “No, we got off on exactly the _right_ foot.” Then, to Lois’s surprise, she took the proffered hand and shook it warmly. “Selina Kyle, Executive Assistant, isn’t interested in making friends. She’s the cold, ruthless foil to Bruce Wayne, Rich Playboy. But you know that what Bruce is like in private is _nothing_ like his public persona, and he thought this little deception would be much less of a betrayal than that discovery.”

It only took Lois a moment to recover and offer Selina a smile of her own. “The real betrayal was seeing how much he can eat and not gain weight.”

Bruce grinned good-naturedly at the look of mock accusation Lois leveled at him. “I have a very strenuous schedule.”

“I _almost_ regret giving that up,” Selina sighed. “But I still have the freedom to go out at night, Bruce has promised that I’ll still get to play with the Bat on occasion, and keeping my distance by being a good kitty means his secret stays safe. Really, all I’m missing out on is a bit of excitement.”

Bruce slipped closer and slid one arm possessively around her waist. “I’ll give you excitement,” he growled in Batman’s voice, head lowered to nuzzle at her hair.

She shivered in delight, eyes darting between Clark and Lois. “Mmm, in front of our guests?”

He laughed as Clark felt his ears heat up. “If that’s really how you want our first time to go, we can discuss it after dinner – which is ready, on the table, and getting cold.”

“Batman gets grumpy when he hasn’t been fed,” Clark teased as Selina disentangled herself.

“That’s a lie and you know it,” came the growled reply. “Batman is _always_ grumpy.”

He had to laugh at that.

“ _That’s_ a lie,” countered Selina, hands on her hips. Then her stern posture softened and she cupped Bruce’s cheek with one hand. “You were _quite_ considerate with me the second time we met.”

Bruce’s usual expression cracked and something vulnerable bled out. “You were falling to your death. And,” he added with a small smile, “you’d just kissed me.”

Lois clapped her hands together. “Well! That sounds like quite a story, one I’d love to hear both sides of – but over dinner. If I’m not going to be able to publish it, I want to at least enjoy some _excellent_ lasagna with it.”

Naturally, the dinner table was set with fine china, real silver, and enough good Italian food to feed a dozen. It was a change from the more casual meals he was almost used to with Bruce, but so was Selina’s presence. Places had been set in the center of the table, serving dishes spread out to both sides. It wasn’t a surprise that Clark ended up sitting across from Bruce, with Lois to his right and Selina to Bruce’s left.

“So,” Lois said, reaching for a breadstick, “how’d you two meet?”

Bruce helped himself to baked rigatoni laden with sausage. “Oh, I’d been tracking Gotham’s new cat burglar for weeks. It was tricky – no fingerprints, no hair, no footprints, no _pattern_. All I had to go on was the method of entry: a hole no more than eight inches in diameter cut through a windowpane. Finally, I staked out a likely suspect and got lucky.”

“He stepped out of a shadow while I was making my escape.” Selina took up the narration, heaping chicken alfredo onto her plate. “I offered him a compliment, he declined it, and I threw myself off the roof to lose him.”

Clark snorted. “That didn’t work.”

“No,” she laughed, “it didn’t. We had a delightful little chase-”

“Which I won,” Bruce interjected.

“-which he won, yes. I ran again, and he let me go after saving my cat.”

He and Lois listened, respectively picking at and absently eating the food they’d served themselves, as Bruce and Selina took turns explaining the whirlwind of dramatic irony that was the half-week between their first meeting and Selina’s arrest. It was worth the loss of informality to see them bantering lightly with each other, he thought.

“Hey,” Lois exclaimed as the story reached its end. She pointed to Selina’s plate with half a breadstick. “You’re eating almost as much as Bruce. That’s not fair; where are you putting it?”

Selina looked amused. “You think it’s easy, staying fit enough to keep up with Batman? I may not go out at night the way he does, but I may very well move into Wayne Manor just to take advantage of his gym.” She gazed thoughtfully into her glass for a second before draining it. “And the Batcave’s obstacle course.”

“And watching Batman use the gym or run through the obstacle course?” Bruce teased.

“Raw steak to a tiger,” she teased back, leaning in for a quick kiss.

He complied. “Good thing you’re not making me choose,” he said in Batman’s voice.

“I already did,” she murmured. “You chose the law.”

“Selina…”

“Shh. You’ve got me now.”

“I feel like I need a scorecard to keep up,” Lois said in an undertone as the other two embraced. “And I think I’m the slightest bit jealous.”

Clark couldn’t argue with that. “It’s been a week and they’ve already established conversational shortcuts. At least they’re talking?”

“Yeah. So,” she continued, louder, “I’m going to go out on a limb and guess you don’t have any hard feelings about spending two months in prison.”

Selina looked distinctly smug. “He’s told me about your…video encouragement sessions, so I know you know _exactly_ what I mean when I say the hard feelings are all the best kind.”

Politely, Lois hid her laughter behind a snowy linen napkin, but nothing could hide the congratulatory glee in her eyes. Clark and Bruce exchanged slightly-embarrassed shrugs. “I _like_ you,” she said when the fit of laughing passed. “I think we’re going to get along just fine.”

“As long as we can be coldly civil and slightly hostile in public,” Selina countered. “I’m a cat; I need a challenge. It used to be stealing jewels, but that’s not an option anymore so now I’m going to steal Bruce Wayne away from every single woman he’s ever so much as _smiled_ at, and it would be suspicious if we were seen actually getting along.” She paused, eyeing Clark contemplatively. “I think I should ignore you whenever possible, once you start having your fictional affair with Bruce.”

“No problems here,” Lois said while Clark nodded. “Publically, I’m more interested in the story than in having a good time, and privately, I’m more interested in helping a friend than I am in getting a story – which ought to tell you just how much I care about him.”

“And him?” Selina asked with a nod at Clark.

This time, he wasn’t alone in blushing.

“I’m just going to say I have the same _hard feelings_ ,” she answered dryly.

“I was going to ask if there were an hard feelings about not showing you the other half of the penthouse,” Bruce said mildly, the hint of a smirk playing around the corners of his mouth, “but now I’m afraid of the answer. If you and Clark are done eating, would you like to see it now?”

Lois’s gaze swept across the table, taking in the sad remnants of what had been a very lavish dinner. “Yeah. I think we’re done.”

With anyone else, Clark would have ambushed them at the door for a hug. Such things were never wise with Batman, however, so he merely caught the other man’s eyes instead and walked deliberately up. Bruce’s embrace was tight without being desperate; very reassuring. “Thank you for dinner,” he said quietly. “Even though I don’t _need_ to eat, I do enjoy it and it was delicious.”

Lois took his place almost before he’d stepped back. “I _do_ need to eat, and it _was_ delicious,” she said while Bruce laughed and hugged her. She dropped back to walk with Selina as their host led the way into the master bedroom. “Hard feelings,” she murmured, knowing Clark would hear her and Bruce probably would, too. “He’s all yours, of course, but if you’re ever interested in sharing more than a table with us…”

“I’ll let you know,” the other woman said firmly. “Give me a chance to settle in first, and I’ll consider it.”

“No rush.” The reporter shot Selina a sidelong glance laden with wry amusement. “Clark and I won’t be doing much until Bruce perfects that kryptonite cock ring, anyway.” The incredulous look she got at that made her laugh. “Faster than a speeding bullet, stronger than a locomotive. Left a hole in my bedroom wall. Downside to being involved with Superman.”

Selina gave her a small smile. “I’m not sure if that’s better, or worse, than the downside to being involved with Batman. Being involved with Bruce Wayne has its perks, though,” she added with thoughtful contentment.

Lois made absent noises of appreciation for the helicopter pad they were being shown, her attention clearly not on it. “How long do you think it will be before you’ve stolen him away from everyone and we can be friendly in public?”

Coolly, eyes narrowed in pleasure like a cat, Selina smiled. “That depends on how long it takes the ladies of Gotham to recognize their defeat. You’re the only one from Metropolis, though, so maybe next month he can be seen doting on me over dinner and Clark can be unceremoniously locked out of the penthouse for the night-”

“-and beg to sleep on Lois’s couch?”

Both women started as the man so named joined the conversation. Lois recovered first. “Good idea, Smallville. And then after you spend the night _alone_ with Bruce, you can deign to talk to me over lunch where you inform me that you won and I lost-”

“-while I take Clark out to lunch and make a show of apologizing to my other lover,” Bruce added, slipping one arm around Selina’s waist. “Clark, I need you to come by next week for those velocity and impact measurements.”

Stoically, not looking anywhere but Bruce’s eyes, Clark said, “I’m looking forward to it.”

Lois leaned over and murmured in Selina’s ear. “So am I.”

Although he didn’t turn his head, it was clear Clark had overheard because his ears were getting pink. Despite that, his voice was still steady when he said, “You’re welcome to watch, Selina.”

She glanced at Bruce, and his expression of mingled hope and restrained fear decided her. _He loves me, and I said I’d share._ Slowly, she smiled. “Now _I’m_ looking forward to it, too.”

The relief and joy on Bruce’s face was all the reward she needed. They would get along; they would work things out. Everything would be okay.


End file.
